THE 


REMOTE  STORAGE 

FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 

BY 


GUSTAVE  AIM  ARE. 

AUTHOR  OF  ‘‘THE  INDIAN  SCOUT,”  ‘‘THE  TRAPPERS  OF  THE  ARKANSA8,”  “THE  WHITE  SCALPER,” 
“BORDER  RIFLES,”  “FREEBOOTERS,”  “THE  CHIEF  OF  THE  AUCAS,”  “THE  TRAIL  HUNTER,” 
“PIRATES  OF  THE  PRAIRIES,”  “THE  TRAPPER’S  DAUGHTER,”  “ GOLD  FINDERS,” 

“THE  TIGER  SLAYER,”  “THE  INDIAN  CHIEF,”  ETC.,  ETC.,  ETC. 


Read  the  following  from,  Bentley's  Miscellany. 

“ Gustave  Aimard  has  written  some  dozen  Indian  tales,  all  interesting  and  all  unlike.  The  great  charm  of  hia 
stories  is,  indubitably,  the  vitality  he  manages  to  throw  into  them  ; and  he  writes  with  such  spirit  that,  while 
reading,  you  cannot  but  imagine  that  he  is  describing  to  you  scenes  of  which  he  was  an  eye-witness.  And  Ibis 
was  very  probably  the  case,  for  Aimard’s  life  has  been  one  which  we  defy  the  most  practised  romancer  to  out- 
romance.  He  has  lived  an  age  (for  such  an  existence  cannot  be  measured  by  years)  among  the  savages.  As 
adopted  son  of  one  of  the  most  powerful  Indian  nations,  he  has  fought,  hunted,  trapped  by  their  side,  and  is 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  their  every  ruse.  But  this  is  not  all ; and  fortunately  for  his  readers,  he  has  gone 
through  every  phase  of  desert  life.  He  has  been  in  turn  squatter,  hunter,  trapper  and  miner,  and  has  seen 
the  mode  of  life  of  all  adventurers  who  traverse  the  Indian  deserts  in  every  direction.  Twice  he  was  led  to 
the  stake  of  torture  by  the  Apaches,  and  only  saved  by  a miracle  ; he  wandered  alone  for  upwards  of  a month  on 
the  great  Del  Norte  desert ; he  was  a slave  in  one  of  the  sacred  cities  of  the  Sun,  and  is  probably  the  only  Euro- 
pean who  returned  from  those  gloomy  caverns,  where  the  sacred  fire  of  Montezuma  is  still  kept  burning,  carefully 
tended  by  Vestals,  as  in  ancient  Rome ; he  was  a prisoner  for  a lengthened  period  with  the  cruel  and  treacherous 
Patagonians — in  a word,  there  is  not  a portion  of  uncivilized  America,  North  or  South,  which  he  has  not  traversed, 
with  his  rifle  in  hand,  in  defiance  of  the  wild  beasts  and  the  still  wilder  and  more  dangerous  inhabitants.  His 
stories  will  be  found  to  be  superior  to  either  those  of  Fennimore  Cooper  or  Mayne  Reid.” — See  unabridged  notice 
Of  Gustave  Aimard' 8 writings , from  Bentley's  Miscellany,  commencing  on  page  13  of  this  volume. 


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GUSTAVE  AIMAKD’S  WRITINGS. 


FROM  BENTLEY’S  MISCELLANY, 


r«id  ~,a  »*,  r=i 

SS5 

d venturous  career  • i g our  llterature  suf- 

)ut  the  few  memonn * * ittal  Maynl  Lid,  who  has  his  readers  by 
of  Stands  Ind  whose  novels  are  full  of  incident  and  vitality 
irs  ha”  d this  field  and  have  failed : in  charity  to  them  we  wdl 

South  to  drive  the  Indians  on  the 

ilk^Supe”  The^renchTad  a viy  celebrated 
de  Bellamare  better ^ known  j h^  palS  before  the 

Aid,r  is  at  once  the  French  Mayne  Held 

and  Fennimore  Coope  guperi0r  to  those  of  both  the  above- 

simple  reason.  Although  Cooper  possessed 

nw  \ " 


7^4 


14 


GUSTAVE  AIMARD’S  WRITINGS. 


a great  talent  for  inventing  a story,  the  misfortune  is,  that  the  scene  is 
laid  within  a very  confined  space  : he  deals  with  only  the  eastern  tribes, 
those  which  the  Yankee  element  came  most  into  collision  with ; and  these 
tribes,  inexorably,  driven  back  before  the  white  man,  soon  lost  those 
salient  points  which  distinguish  the  savage  of  the  western  prairies.  The 
Tuscaroras  and  Delawares  were  not  lords  of  the  land  after  the  landing  of 
the  first  pale  faces ; they  contended  inch  by  inch  of  their  territory,  it  is 
true,  but  their  opponents  had  the  prestige  of  victory,  and  the  tribes,  deci- 
mated by  whiskey  and  white  diseases,  had  not  the  energy  left  to  resist. 
If  they  formed  a confederation,  it  was  but  limited  in  its  extent,  and  fell 
to  pieces  from  internal  dissension.  Cooper  was,  therefore,  virtually  right 
in  calling  one  of  his  books  “ The  Last  of  the  Mohicans,”  even  though  the 
scattered  fragments  of  that  race  still  exist  beyond  the  Mississippi. 

Mayne  Eeid,  on  the  other  hand,  acted  wisely  in  laying  the  scene  of  his 
stories  among  the  untamable  tribes  of  the  western  prairies — the  Pawnees, 
the  Apaches,  and  the  Camanches — that  haughty  race  which  calls  itself 
“Queen  of  the  Prairies,”  and  defies  the  white  man.  These  tribes  still  lord 
it  in  the  desert ; they  are  constantly  at  war  with  the  pale  faces,  and  during 
the  “ Mexican  moon”  commit  frightful  ravages  in  Sonora  and  along  the 
frontier.  The  degenerate  descendants  of  Cortez  are  unable  to  resist  them, 
and  they  spread  desolation  on  their  path.  Villages,  even  towns,  are 
burned,  the  crops  are  ruthlessly  destroyed,  and  the  women  led  into  cap- 
tivity, to  become  the  slaves  of  the  red-skin  warriors.  Such  men,  though 
they  be  savages,  supply  a thrilling  subject  for  the  romance  writer,  and 
Mayne  Reid  did  well  in  laying  the  scene  of  his  Indian  tales  among  them. 

Unfortunately,  however,  when  you  have  read  one  of  Captain  Reid’s 
stories,  you  have  read  them  all,  for  a marvellous  likeness  pervades  them. 
The  feeling  cannot  be  overcome  that,  having  exhausted  his  stock  of  per- 
sonal observation  in  his  earlier  works,  he  repeats  himself,  or  is  obliged  to 
fall  back  on  reading.  Another  great  defect  in  these  otherwise  charming 
tales  is  the  utter  absence  of  plot : you  have  incidents  piled  on  incidents, 
but  the  conclusion  lies  as  plainly  before  you  as  the  town  you  are  travel- 
ing to  on  a Dutch  road.  It  may  be  that  Mayne  Reid,  having  to  write  for 
a popular  periodical,  does  not  display  that  artistic  finish  of  which  we  be- 
lieve him  quite  capable,  and  that,  under  different  circumstances,  he  might 
produce  works  in  every  way  satisfactory  to  his  readers;  but  there  is 
nothing  more  injurious,  he  should  remember,  to  a popular  author  than  the 
whispered  “he  is  writing  himself  out,”  from  which  some  of  our  best 
writers  are  now  suffering,  simply  because,  having  made  a reputation,  they 
do  nothing  on  their  side  to  support  it. 

The  case  is  very  different,  however,  with  the  subject  of  our  paper. 
Gustave  Aimard  has  written  some  dozen  Indian  tales,  all  interesting  and 


GUSTAVE  AIMARD’S  WRITINGS. 


15 


all  unlike.  The  great  charm  of  his  stories  is,  indubitably,  the  vitality  he 
manages  to  throw  into  them ; and  he  writes  with  such  spirit,  that,  while 
reading,  you  cannot  but  imagine  that  he  is  describing  to  you  scenes  of 
which  he  was  an  eye-witness.  And  this  was  very  probably  the  case,  for 
Aimard’s  life  has  been  one  which  we  defy  the  most  practised  romancer  to 
out-romance.  He  has  lived  an  age  (for  such  an  existence  cannot  be  mea- 
sured by  years)  among  the  savages.  As  adopted  son  of  one  of  the  most 
powerful  Indian  nations,  he  has  fought,  hunted,  trapped  by  their  side,  and 
is  thoroughly  acquainted  with  their  every  ruse.  But  this  is  not  all;  and 
fortunately  for  his  readers,  he  has  gone  through  every  phase  of  desert 
life.  He  has  been  in  turn  squatter,  hunter,  trapper,  and  miner,  and  has 
seen  the  mode  of  life  of  all  the  adventurers  who  traverse  the  Indian 
deserts  in  every  direction.  Twice  he  was  led  to  the  stake  of  torture  by 
the  Apaches,  and  only  saved  by  a miracle ; he  wandered  about  alone  for 
upwards  of  a month  on  the  great  Del  Norte  desert;  he  was  a slave  in 
one  of  the  sacred  cities  of  the  Sun,  and  is  probably  the  only  European 
who  returned  alive  from  those  gloomy  caverns,  where  the  sacred  fire  of 
Montezuma  is  still  kept  burning,  carefully  tended  by  the  Yestals,  as  in 
ancient  Rome ; he  was  a prisoner  for  a lengthened  period  with  the  cruel 
and  treacherous  Patagonians — in  a word,  there  is  not  a portion  of  uncivi- 
lized America,  North  or  South,  which  he  has  not  traversed,  with  his  good 
rifle  in  hand,  in  defiance  of  the  wild  beasts  and  the  still  wilder  and  more 
dangerous  inhabitants. 

But  even  such  a life  as  this  would  avail  a man  but  little  for  literary 
pursuits,  unless  he  possessed  the  gift  of  putting  it  in  an  attractive  form, 
and  this  Gustave  Aimard  has  in  an  eminent  degree.  He  is  endowed  with 
all  the  qualities  of  a novelist,  and  while  his  works  read  so  truthfully,  they 
are  of  absorbing  interest,  owing  to  the  clever  way  in  which  the  author 
maintains  the  surprise,  which  is  the  great  characteristic,  even  though  an 
unworthy  one,  perhaps,  of  the  successful  novelist.  With  the  first  novel 
he  produced  on  his  return,  “ The  Grand  Chief  of  the  Aucas,”  his  reputation 
was  established  in  France,  and  he  has  constantly  marched  to  fresh  tri- 
umphs. Nearly  every  month  a fresh  work  is  produced  from  his  prolific 
pen ; and  yet,  though  we  have  read  them  all  with  unabated  interest,  we 
have  not  found  an  instance  where  he  has  repeated  them,  excepting,  of 
course,  where  he  has  found  it  necessary  to  describe  Indian  manners  and 
customs,  which  do  not  vary.  Many  of  his  earlier  works  have  reached 
the  sixth  edition,  and  we  may  safely  say  that  he  has  a clientele  in  Paris 
greater  than  even  Paul  de  Kock  had  in  his  palmiest  days. 

It  is  no  slight  merit  for  a French  author  to  achieve,  that  these  works 
do  not  contain  a single  line  which  an  English  reader  would  wish  away. 
M . Aimard  is  too  truly  a man  to  attempt  corrupting  the  hearts  and  minds 


16 


GUST  A YE  AIMARD’S  WRITINGS. 


of  his  readers  by  high-flown  sentiment ; if  we  find  fault  with  him  at  all, 
it  is  for  investing  his  Indian  characters  with  too  much  humanity,  and 
endowing  them  ■with  attributes  which  are  generally  the  boast  of  civiliza- 
tion alone.  But  he  is  the  best  judge  of  such  matters : he  has  made  the 
Indian  character  the  study  of  his  life,  and  we  may  safely  accept  at  his 
hands  a picture  which  we  may  deem  too  flattering,  but  which,  after  all, 
may  be  explained  by  the  many-sided  phases  human  life  assumes,  to  the 
skin  that  covers  white,  red,  or  black.  If  Mrs.  Stowe  was  allowed  to  re- 
habilitate the  negro  in  “ Uncle  Tom’s  Cabin,”  surely,  no  fault  is  to  be 
found  with  Gustave  Aimard  because  he  manfully  upholds  the  men  with 
whom  he  spent  so  many  years  of  his  life,  and  whom  he  learnt  to  love  and 
admire  in  spite  of  their  faults,  which  are,  after  all,  inherent  in  their  nature. 

After  the  fashion  of  Fennimore  Cooper,  Aimard  generally  selects  one 
hero,  whom  he  accompanies  through  several  volumes,  although  they  are 
all  complete  in  themselves,  and  require  no  elucidatory  remarks.  In  one 
series,  composed  of  “ The  Tiger  Slayer,”  “ The  Gold  Finder,”  and  “ The  In- 
dian Chief,”  his  hero  is  the  unfortunate  Count  de  Baousset  Boulbon,  who  fell 
a victim  to  Mexican  ill-faith  in  1848,  and  was  shot  like  a dog  by  the 
governor  of  Sonora.  His  hapless  fate  created  a sensation  throughout 
Europe  at  the  time,  but  faded  away  in  presence  of  the  weird  political 
events  that  occupied  all  minds  in  that  eventful  year.  Had  the  count  been 
successful,  he  would  have  ranked  in  history  by  the  side  of  Cortez  and 
Pizarro,  and  his  exploit  of  taking  the  fortified  town  of  Hermosello,  at  the 
head  of  scarce  three  hundred  men,  and  with  no  guns,  has  hardly  been 
surpassed  in  the  history  of  modern  warfare.  Ho  better  hero  for  a ro- 
mance could  have  offered;  and  while  M.  Aimard  has  adhered  rather 
closely  to  facts,  he  has  interwoven  a web  of  human  interest  by  sundry 
love  passages  that  take  place  between  the  count  and  the  daughter  of  his 
great  enemy,  the  governor  of  Sonora. 

Among  all  that  is  good,  it  is  difficult  to  choose  the  best,  but,  in  our 
opinion,  “ The  Flower  of  the  Prairie,”  and  its  sequel,  the  “ Indian  Scout,” 
are  the  most  successful  of  all  M.  Aimard’s  Indian  stories,  possibly  because 
they  deal  more  with  civilization  than  the  rest  of  the  tales  do.  Perhaps 
our  readers  will  not  object  to  a short  analysis  of  the  plot,  which  we  trust 
will  impel  them  to  seek  the  book  itself. 

In  consequence  of  intrigues,  Don  Beal  de  los  Montes  is  obliged  to  fly 
from  Mexico,  leaving  his  wife  and  daughter  in  charge  of  his  brother,  Don 
Estevan.  The  latter,  who  had  concocted  the  intrigue  in  the  hope  of  suc- 
ceeding to  his  brother’s  wealth,  forces  the  ladies  into  a convent,  where  the 
mother  dies,  and  the  daughter,  Dona  Luisa,  is  immured  alive  in  the 
oubliettes.  Fortunately  for  her,  her  young  lover,  Don  Leo  de  Torres, 
hears  of  this,  breaks  into  the  convent,  carries  her  and  a companion,  Dona 


GUSTAVE  AIMARD’S  WRITINGS. 


17 


Laura,  off,  and  flies  into  the  desert.  So  eager,  however,  is  Don  Estevan’s 
pursuit  in  order  to  destroy  the  last  witness  of  his  crime,  that  Don  Leo  is 
compelled  to  entrust  the  two  ladies  to  Addick,  an  Apache  chief,  who 
conveys  them  to  the  City  of  the  Sun,  with  the  intention  of  never  giving 
them  up  again.  This  Addick  is  a double  rogue,  and  plays  with  both 
parties  for  his  own  profit.  Under  these  circumstances,  Bon-affut,  the 
Eclaireur,  or  scout,  makes  his  appearance,  accompanied  by  another  Cana- 
dian hunter,  Balle-franche  (the  hero  of  a previous  tale),  and  Eagle-head,  a 
celebrated  Camanche  chief.  Don  Estevan  is  captured  while  arranging  his 
villainy,  and  his  brother,  Don  Mariano,  arrives  in  the  desert  in  time  to 
accuse  him  before  the  terrible  Court  of  Lynch  Law.  He  is  found  guilty, 
and  unceremoniously  condemned  to  be  buried  alive,  with  his  right  hand 
free  to  clutch  a pistol  when  he  grows  tired  of  his  awful  position. 

Don  Mariano,  however,  relents,  and  gives  Balle-franche  the  hint  to 
liberate  him.  He  does  so  at  the  last  moment,  and  receives  his  reward 
by  being  knocked  on  the  head  by  the  ungrateful  villain,  who  makes  off 
with  his  horse  and  joins  the  Apaches,  to  whom  he  consents  to  surrender 
the  two ’ladies,  on  condition  that  none  of  his  enemies  leave  the  desert 
alive.  On  hearing  the  news  from  Balle-franche  that  Don  Estevan  is  free, 
the  gambusinos  break  up  their  camp  at  once,  and  hasten  off  in  the  hope 
of  realizing  the  ladies  before  Don  Estevan  reaches  the  city. 

The  description  of  the  march  through  the  virgin  forests  is  unique,  and 
we  would  gladly  quote  illustrative  passages,  did  our  space  permit.  Suf- 
fice it  to  say  that,  after  countless  skirmishes  with  the  Indians,  they  all 
arrive  in  sight  of  the  Sacred  City — to  discover  that  the  Apaches  have 
reached  it  before  them.  At  this  moment  Bon-affut  appears  as  the  Deus 
ex  machina.  Disguised  as  a medicine -man,  and  aided  by  Eagle-head,  he 
manages  to  get  into  the  Sacred  City  (the  detailed  description  of  which, 
by  the  way,  is  admirably  done,  and  evidently  by  an  eye-witness),  and  by 
stratagem,  too  long  to  describe,  and  would  be  spoiled  in  shortening,  gets 
the  ladies  out.  The  Europeans  fly,  hotly  pursued  by  the  Indians,  who  are 
furious  to  avenge  the  sacrilege  committed  on  their  sacred  ground,  and  the 
party  at  length  enter  Sonora  to  find  the  Indians  before  them,  perpetrating 
the  horrors  of  the  Mexican  Moon.  They  are  beleaguered,  and,  after  a 
frightful  combat,  are  about  to  put  an  end  to  their  lives,  sooner  than  fall 
into  the  hands  of  their  furious  foes,  when  Eagle-head  arrives  at  the  head 
of  the  Camanches,  and  puts  the  Apaches  to  flight  with  immense  slaughter. 

This  outline,  naturally  bald  as  it  is,  will  serve  to  show  the  strong  human 
interest  of  the  story,  and  the  powerful  way  in  which  it  is  worked  out. 
But  it  would  be  hopeless  for  us  to  attempt  to  furnish  any  idea  of  the 
scenes  that  fill  up  the  volume,  and  the  countless  delicate  touches  the  au- 
thor gives  to  bring  out  the  Indian  character  in  all  its  glory.  We  feel 


18 


GUSTAVE  AIMARD’S  WRITINGS. 


convinced  that  Eagle-head  will  find  as  many  admirers  as  the  last  chief  of 
the  Mohicans,  for  he  is  quite  as  inexorable  and  chivalrous.  The  character 
of  his  squaw,  Fleur  d’Eglantine,  is  also  most  exquisitely  drawn,  and  alto- 
gether the  volume  produces  an  effect  on  the  reader  which  cannot  be  de 
scribed  but  must  be  felt.  Whoever  reads  it  on  our  recommendation, 
will,  we  feel  assured,  not  be  disappointed. 

In  a political  point  of  view,  these  Indian  tales  possess  considerable  in- 
terest, as  coming  from  one  who  has  carefully  studied  the  question.  It  is 
very  remarkable  to  find,  in  the  nineteenth  century,  that  the  savages,  once 
driven  back  thousands  of  miles  from  the  frontier  of  civilization  by  the 
Spanish  conquistador^  are  gradually  regaining  their  ground,  and  forcing 
the  Mexicans  to  retire  in  their  turn.  Large  districts,  once  covered  by 
haciendas,  have  now  been  regained  to  the  desert ; the  presidios  built  to 
keep  the  invader  at  bay,  have  been  ruined,  and  there  is  nothing  to  check 
the  advance  of  the  prairie  Indians  save  their  own  desire  to  return  home, 
after  completing  a successful  raid,  and  enjoying  the  spoils.  With  the 
Americans  advancing  to  the  east  and  south,  the  savages  on  the  west  and 
north,  Mexico  must  inevitably  be  swallowed  up  between  them,  and  the 
great  contest  will  commence.  As  to  the  result,  M.  Aimard  feels  sanguine, 
for  he  has  a most  hearty  detestation  of  the  Yankees,  which  would  have 
gladdened  the  heart  of  Dr.  Johnson,  who  so  liked  a good  hater,  but  we  are 
inclined  to  shake  our  heads  in  doubt.  We  concede  all  M.  Aimard  urges, 
that  the  prairie  Indians  have  formed  a grand  confederation,  and  are  under 
military  organization  (we  wonder  whether  French  adventurers  have  a 
hand  in  this),  and  we  are  fully  aware  how  long  the  conquest  of  the  Semi- 
noles,  led  by  Osceola,  took  the  Americans.  But  when  such  a country  as 
Mexico  was  the  stake,  the  whole  of  Yankeedom  would  take  up  arms. 
North  and  South  would  forget  their  quarrels  for  the  prospect  of  annexing 
so  fertile  a territory,  and  we  can  hardly  expect  that  a few  thousand  In- 
dians, however  brave  and  well  organized,  could  long  withstand  the  com- 
bined efforts  of  the  republic,  that  “ colossus  with  the  feet  of  clay,”  as 
Gustave  Aimard  terms  it. 

But,  putting  this  question  aside,  there  is  another  and  more  cheerful 
aspect  under  which  we  may  regard  the  great  and  deserved  success  of 
Aimard’s  Indian  tales.  It  indicates  that  the  reign  of  frivolity  and  im- 
morality which  has  so  long  weighed  down  French  literature  is  drawing 
to  an  end,  and  that  a taste  for  healthier  reading  is  being  produced. 
That  they  are  healthy  reading  we  have  already  said ; that  they  are  deeply 
interesting  does  not  admit  of  a doubt ; and  that  they  are  decidedly  the 
best  of  their  sort  is  the  opinion  we  entertain,  and  which  we  believe  our 
readers  will  confirm  when  they  have  compared  them  with  other  works 
of  the  same  nature  offered  them  before. 


THE 


FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


BY  GUSTAVE  AIMARD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A HUNTING  ENCAMPMENT. 

America  is  the  land  of  prodigies  ! 
Everything  there  assumes  gigantic  pro- 
portions, which  startle  the  imagination 
and  confound  the  reason.  Mountains, 
rivers,  lakes  and  streams,  all  are  carved 
on  a sublime  pattern. 

There  is  a river  of  North  America — 
not  like  the  Danube,  Rhine  or  Rhone, 
whose  banks  are  covered  with  towns, 
plantations  and  time-worn  castles  ; 
whose  sources  and  tributaries  are  mag- 
nificent streams,  the  waters  of  which, 
confined  in  a narrow  bed,  rush  onwards 
as  if  impatient  to  lose  themselves  in  the 
ocean — but  deep  and  silent,  wide  as  an 
arm  of  the  sea,  calm  and  severe  in  its 
grandeur,  it  pours  majestically  on- 
wards, its  waters  augmented  by  innum- 
erable streams,  and  lazily  bathes  the 
banks  of  a thousand  isles  which  it  has 
formed  of  its  own  sediment. 

These  isles,  covered  with  tall  thickets, 
exhale  a sharp  or  delicious  perfume 
which  the  breeze  bears  far  away.  No- 
thing disturbs  their  solitude,  save  the 
gentle  and  plaintive  appeal  of  the  dove, 
or  the  hoarse  and  strident  voice  of  the 
tiger,  as  it  sports  beneath  the  shade. 


At  certain  spots,  trees  that  have  fall- 
en through  old  age,  or  have  been  up- 
rooted by  the  hurricane,  collect  on  its 
waters  ; then,  attached  by  creepers  and 
concealed  by  mud,  these  fragments  of 
forests  become  floating  islands.  Young 
shrubs  take  root  upon  them  : the  petu- 
na  and  nenuphar  expand  here  and  there 
their  yellow  roses  : serpents,  birds, 

and  caimans  come  to  sport  and  rest  on 
these  verdurous  rafts,  and  are  with  them 
swallowed  up  in  the  ocean. 

This  river  has  no  name  ! Others  in 
the  same  zone  are  called  Neobraska, 
Platte,  Missouri ; but  this  is  simply  the 
Mecha  Cheba,  the  old  father  of  waters, 
the  river  before  all  ! the  Mississippi,  in 
a word  ! Vast  and  incomprehensible 
as  is  infinity,  full  of  secret  terrors,  like 
the  Ganges  and  Irriwaddy,  it  is  the  type 
of  fecundity,  immensity,  and  eternity 
to  the  numerous  Indian  nations  that  in- 
habit its  banks  ! 

Three  men  were  seated  on  the  bank 
of  the  river,  a little  below  its  confluence 
with  the  Missouri,  and  were  breakfast- 
ing on  a slice  of  roast  elk,  while  gaily 
chatting  together. 

The  spot  where  they  were  seated  was 
remarkably  picturesque.  The  bank  of 
the  river  was  formed  of  small  mounds 

(19) 


2C 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


enamelled  with  flowers.  The  strangers 
had  selected  for  their  halt  the  top  of 
the  highest  mound,  whence  the  eye  em- 
braced a magnificent  panorama.  In  the 
foreground,  dense  curtains  of  verdure 
which  undulated  with  each  breath  of 
air  ; on  the  islands,  innumerable  flocks 
of  dark-winged  flamingoes,  perched  on 
their  long  legs,  plovers  and  cardinals 
fluttering  from  bough  to  bough,  while 
numerous  alligators  lazily  wallowed  in 
the  mud.  Between  the  islands,  the  sil- 
very patches  of  water  reflected  the  sun- 
beams. In  the  midst  of  these  masses 
of  coruscating  light,  fishes  of  every  de- 
scription sported  on  the  surface  of  the 
water,  and  traced  sparkling  furrows. 
Further  back,  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  the  tops  of  the  trees  that  border- 
ed the  prairie,  and  whose  dark  green 
scarcely  .-howed  above  the  horizon. 

But  the  three  men  we  have  mention- 
ed seemed  to  trouble  themselves  very 
slightly  about  the  natural  beauties  that 
surrounded  them,  as  they  were  fully  en- 
gaged in  appeasing  a true  hunter’s  appe- 
tite. Their  meal,  however,  only  lasted 
a few  minutes,  and  when  the  last  frag- 
ments had  been  devoured,  one  lighted 
his  Indian  pipe,  the  other  took  a cigar 
from  his  pocket.  They  then  stretched 
themselves  on  the  grass,  and  began  di- 
gesting with  that  beatitude  which  char- 
acterizes smokers,  while  following  with 
a languid  eye  the  clouds  of  bluish  smoke 
.that  rose  in  long  spirals  with  each 
mouthful  they  puffed  forth.  As  for 
.the  third  man,  he  leant  his  back  against 
a tree,  crossed  his  arms  on  his  chest, 
and  went  to  sleep  most  prosaically. 

We  will  profit  by  this  momentary 
repose  .to  present  these  persons  to  our 
readers  and  make  them  better  acquaint- 
ed with  each  other.  The  first  was  a 
Canadian  half-breed,  of  about  fifty 
years  of  age,  known  by  the  name  of 
“ Brighteye.”  His  life  had  been  entire- 
ly spent  on  the  prairie  among  the  Indi- 
ans, all  of  whose  tricks  he  was  thorough- 
ly acquainted  with. 

Like  the  majority  of  his  countrymen 
he  was  very  tall,  more  than  six  feet  in 
height : his  body  was  thin  and  angular  ; 
his  limbs  were  knotty,  but  covered  with 
muscles  bard  as  ropes ; his  bony  and 
yellow  face  had  a remarkable  expres- 


sion of  frankness  and  joviality,  and  his 
little  grey  eyes  sparkled  with  intelli- 
gence ; his  prominent  cheek  bones,  his 
nose  bent  over  a w ide  mouth  supplied 
with  long  white  teeth,  and  his  rounded 
chin,  made  up  a face  which  was  most 
singular,  and,  at  the  same  time,  the 
most  attractive  that  could  be  imagined. 

His  dress  differed  in  no  respect  from 
that  of  other  woodrangers ; that  is  to 
say,  it  was  a strange  medley  of  Euro- 
pean and  Indian  fashions,  generally  ad- 
opted by  all  the  white  prairie  hunters 
and  trappers.  His  weapons  consisted 
of  a knife,  a pair  of  pistoH,  and  an  Am- 
erican rifle,  now  lying  on  the  grass,  but 
within  reach  of  his  hand. 

His  companion  was  a man  of  thirty 
to  thirty-two  years  of  age  at  the  most, 
but  who  appeared  scarce  twenty-five, 
tall,  and  well  made. 

His  blue  eyes,  limptd  as  a woman’s, 
the  long,  light  curls  that  escaped  beneath 
the  edge  of  his  Panama  hat,  and  floated 
in  disorder  on  his  shoulders,  the  white- 
ness of  his  skin,  which  contrasted  with 
the  olive  and  brown  complexion  of  the 
hunter,  were  sufficient  evidence  that  he 
was  not  born  in  the  hot  climate  of  Am- 
erica. 

In  fact,  this  young  man  was  a French- 
man, Charles  Edward  de  Beaulieu,  and 
was  descended  from  one  of  the  oldest 
families  in  Brittany.  But,  under  this 
slightly  effeminate  appearance,  he  con- 
cealed a lion’s  courage  which  nothing 
could  startle  or  even  surprise. 

Skilled  in  all  bodily  exercises,  he  was 
also  endowed  with  prodigious  strength, 
and  the  debcate  skin  of  his  white  and 
unstained  hands,  with  their  rosy  nails, 
covered  nerves  of  steel. 

The  Count’s  dress  would  reasonably 
have  appeared  extraordinary  in  a coun- 
try remote  from  civilization  to  any  one 
who  had  leisure  to  examine  it.  He 
wore  a hunting  jacket  of  green  cloth,  of 
a French  cut,  and  buttoned  over  his 
chest : yellow  buckskin  breeches,  fast- 
ened by  a waistbelt  of  varnished  leath- 
er; a cartridge-box  and  a hunting- 
knife  in  a bronzed  steel  sheath,  and  with 
an  admirably  chiselled  hilt;  while  his 
legs  were  covered  by  long  riding  boots, 
coming  up  over  the  knee.  Like  his 
companion,  he  had  laid  his  rifle  on  the 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


21 


grass  : his  weapon,  richly  damascened, 
must  have  cost  an  enormous  sum. 

The  Count  de  Beaulieu,  whose  father 
followed  the  princes  into  exile  and  serv- 
ed them  actively,  first  in  Conde’s  army 
and  then  in  all  the  royalist  plots  that 
were  incessantly  formed  during  the 
Empire,  was  an  ultra-Royalist.  Left 
an  orphan  at  an  early  age,  and  posses- 
sed of  an  immense  fortune,  he  was 
nominated  a lieutenant  in  the  Gardes  du 
Corps.  After  the  fall  of  Charles  X., 
the  Count,  whose  career  was  broken  up, 
was  assailed  by  a fearful  despondency, 
and  an  unenviable  disregard  for  life  fill- 
ed his  heart.  Europe  became  hateful 
to  him,  and  he  resolved  to  bid  it  an 
eternal  farewell.  After  intrusting  the 
management  of  his  fortune  to  a confi- 
dential agent,  the  Count  embarked  for 
the  United  States, 

But  American  life,  narrow,  paltry  and 
egotistic,  was  not  made  for  him  ; for  the 
young  man  understood  the  Americans 
no  better  than  they  did  him.  His 
heart  was  ulcerated  by  the  meanness 
and  trickery  he  saw  daily  committed 
by  the  descendants  of  the  Plymouth 
Brethren,  so  he  one  day  resolved  to 
bury  himself  in  the  depths  of  the  coun- 
try, and  visit  those  immense  prairies 
whence  the  first  lords  of  the  soil  had 
been  driven  by  the  cunning  and  treach- 
ery of  their  crafty  despoilers. 

The  count  had  brought  with  him  from 
France  an  old  servant  of  the  family, 
whose  progenitors,  for  many  genera- 
tions, had  uninterruptedly  served  the 
Beaulieus.  Before  embarking,  the  Count 
imparted  his  plans  to  Ivon  Kergollec, 
leaving  him  at  liberty  to  remain  behind 
or  follow  ; the  servant’s  choice  was  not 
long,  he  simply  replied  that  his  master 
had  the  right  to  do  what  he  pleased 
without  consulting  him,  and  as  it  was 
his  duty  to  follow  his  master  every- 
where, he  should  do  so.  Even  then 
when  the  Count  formed  the  resolve  of 
visiting  the  prairies,  and  thought  it 
right  to  tell  his  servant  his  resolution, 
the  answer  was  still  the  same.  Ivon 
was  about  forty-five  years  of  age,  and 
was  a true  type  of  the  hardy,  simple, 
and  withal,  crafty  Breton  peasant ; he 
was  short  and  stumpy,  but  his  well- 
knit  limbs  and  wide  chest  denoted  im- 


mense strength.  His  brick-colored  face 
was  illumined  by. two  small  eyes,  that 
sparkled  with  cleverness  and  flashed 
like  carbuncles. 

Ivon,  whose  life  had  been  spent  lazily 
and  calmly  in  the  gilded  halls  of  Beau- 
lieu House,  had  gradually  assumed  the 
regular  habits  of  a nobleman’s  lacquey; 
having  had  no  occasion  to  prove  his 
courage,  he  was  completely  ignorant  of 
the  possession  of  that  quality,  and,  al- 
though, during  the  last  few  months  he 
had  been  placed  in  many  dangerous 
circumstances  while  following  his  mas- 
ter, he  w'as  still  at  the  same  point,  that 
is  to  say,  he  completely  doubted  him- 
self, and  had  the  innate  conviction  that 
he  was  as  cowardly  as  a hare  ; so  noth- 
ing was  more  curious  after  a meeting 
with  the  Indians  than  to  hear  Ivon,  who 
had  been  fighting  like  a lion  and  per- 
forming prodigies  of  valor,  excuse  him- 
self humbly  to  his  master  for  having 
behaved  so  badly,  as  he  was  not  used 
to  fighting. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  Count 
excused  him,  while  laughing  heartily, 
and  telling  him  as  a consolation — for 
the  poor  fellow  was  very  unhappy  at 
this  supposed  cowardice — that  the  next 
time  he  would  probably  do  better,  and 
that  he  would  gradually  grow  accustom- 
ed to  this  life,  which  was  so  different 
from  that  he  had  hitherto  led.  At  this 
consolation  the  worthy  man-servant 
would  shake  his  head  sorrowfully,  and 
reply,  with  an  accent  of  thorough  con- 
viction : 

“ No,  sir,  I can  never  have  any  cour- 
age. I feel  sure  of  it ; it  is  a sad  truth, 
but  I am  a poltroon.  I am  only  too 
well  aware  of  it.” 

Ivon  was  dressed  in  a complete  suit 
of  livery,  though,  in  regard  to  present 
circumstances,  he  was,  like  his  compan- 
ions, armed  to  the  teeth,  and  his  rifle 
leant  against  the  tree  by  his  side. 

Three  magnificent  horses,  full  of  fire 
and  blood,  hobbled  a few  paces  from  the 
hunters,  were  carelessly  browsing  on 
the  climbing  peas  and  tree-shoots. 

We  have  omitted  to  mention  two  pe- 
culiarities of  the  Count.  The  first  was, 
that  he  always  carried  in  his  right  eye  a 
gold  eyeglass,  fastened  round  his  neck 
by  means  of  a black  ribbon  ; the  sec- 


22 


THE  FLOTYER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


Olid,  that  he  continually  wore  kid  gloves 
which,  we  confess,  greatly  to  his  annoy- 
ance, had  now  grown  very  dirty  and 
torn. 

And  now,  by  what  strange  combina- 
tion of#chance  were  these  three  men, 
so  differing  in  birth,  habits,  and  educa- 
tion, met  together  some  five  or  six  hun- 
dred leagues  from  any  civilized  abode, 
on  the  banks  of  a river,  if  not  unknown, 
at  any  rate  hitherto  unexplored,  seated 
amicably  on  the  grass,  sharing  a break- 
fast which  was  more  than  frugal  % We 
can  explain  this  to  the  reader  by  curso- 
rily describing  a scene  that  occurred  on 
the  prairie  about  six  months  prior  to  the 
beginning  of  our  narrative. 

Brighteye  was  a determined  man, 
who, with  the  exception  of  the  time  he 
served  the  Hudson’s  Bay  Company,  had 
always  hunted  and  trapped  alone,  despi- 
sing the  Indians  too  much  to  fear  them, 
and  finding  in  braving  them  that  delight 
which  the  courageous  man  experiences, 
when,  alone  and  beneath  the  eye  of 
Heaven,  he  struggles,  confiding  in  his 
own  resources,  against  a terrible  and  un- 
known danger.  The  Indians  knew  and 
feared  him  for  many  a long  year.  Many 
times  they  had  come  in  collision  with 
him,  and  they  had  nearly  always  been 
compelled  to  retreat,  leaving  several  of 
their  men  on  the  field.  Hence  they 
had  sworn  against  the  hunter  one  of 
those  hearty  Indian  hatreds  which  noth- 
ing can  satiate  save  the  punishment  of 
the  man  who  is  the  object  of  it. 

But  as  they  knew  w ith  what  sort  of  a 
man  they  had  to  deal,  and  did  not  care 
to  increase  the  number  of  the  victims 
he  had  already  sacrificed,  they  resolved 
to  await,  with  the  peculiar  patience  cha- 
racteristic of  their  race,  the  propitious 
moment  for  seizing  their  foe,  and  till 
then  confine  themselves  to  carefully 
watch  ng  all  his  movements,  so  as  not 
to  lose  the  favorable  opportunity  when 
it  presented  itself. 

Brighteye  at  this  moment  was  hunt- 
ing on  the  banks  of  the  Missouri. — 
Knowing  himself  watched,  and  instinct- 
ively suspecting  a trap,  he  took  all  the 
precautions  suggested  to  him  by  his  in- 
ventive mind  and  the  deep  knowledge 
he  possessed  of  Indian  tricks.  One  day, 
v\hile  exploring  the  banks  of  the  river, 


he  fancied  he  noticed,  a slight  distance 
ahead  of  him,  an  almost  imperceptible 
movement  in  the  thick  brushwood.  He 
stopped  ; lay  down,  and  began  crawl- 
ing gently  in  the  direction  of  the  thick- 
et. Suddenly  the  forest  seemed  agita- 
ted to  its  most  unexplored  depths.  A 
swarm  of  Indians  rose  from  the  earth, 
leaped  from  the  trees,  or  rushed  from 
behind  rocks  ; the  hunter,  literally  bur- 
ied beneath  ihe  mass  of  his  enemies, 
w as  reduced  to  a stale  of  powerlessness 
before  he  could  make  an  attempt  to  de- 
fi-nd  himself. 

Brighteye  was  disarmed  in  a twink- 
ling ; then  a chief  walked  up  to  him, 
and,  holding  out  his  hand,  said  coldly  : 

“ Let  my  brother  rise  ; the  redskin 
warriors  are  waiting  for  him.” 

“ Gooi,  good,”  the  hunter  growled  ; 
“ all  is  not  over  yet,  Indian,  and  I shall 
have  my  revenge.” 

The  chief  smiled. 

“ My  brother  is  like  the  mocking- 
bird,” he  said  ironically  ; “ he  speaks 
too  much.” 

Brighteye  bit  his  lips,  to  keep  back 
the  insult  that  rose  to  them  ; he  got  up 
and  followed  his  victors.  He  was  a 
prisoner  to  the  Piekanns,  the  most  war- 
like tribe  of  the  Blackfeet  ; and  the 
chief  who  had  taken  him  was  his  perso- 
nal enemy. 

The  chief’s  name  was  Natah  Otann 
(the  Grizzly  Bear).  He  was  a man  of 
five-and-twenty  at  most,  with  a fine,  in- 
telligent face,  bearing  the  imprint  of 
honesty.  His  tall  figure,  well-propor- 
tioned limbs,  the  grace  of  his  move- 
ments, and  his  martial  aspect,  rendered 
him  a remarkable  man.  His  long  black 
hair,  carefully  parted,  fell  in  disorder 
on  bis  shoulders  ; like  all  the  renowned 
warriors  of  his  tribe,  he  wore  on  the 
back  of  his  head  an  ermine  skin,  and 
round  his  neck  bear’s  claws  mingled 
with  buffalo  teeth,  a very  dear  and 
highly  honored  ornament  among  the 
Indians.  Ilis  shirt  of  buffalo  hide,  with 
short  sleeves,  was  decorated  round  the 
neck  with  a species  of  collar  of  red 
cloth,  ornamented  with  fringe  and  por- 
cupine quills  ; the  seams  of  the  gar- 
ment were  embroidered  with  hair  taken 
from  scalps,  the  whole  relieved  by  small 
bands  of  ermine  skin.  His  moccasins, 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRATRTE. 


23 


of  different  colors,  were  loaded  with 
very  elegant  embroidery,  while  his  buf- 
falo hide  robe  was  painted  inside  with 
a number  of  clumsy  designs,  intended 
to  depict  the  young  warrior’s  achieve- 
ments. 

Natah  Otann  held  in  his  right  hand  a 
fan  made  of  a single  eagle’s  wing,  and, 
suspended  round  the  wrist  from  the 
same  hand  by  a thong,  the  short  han- 
dled long-lashed  whip  peculiar  to  the 
prairie  Indians ; on  his  back  hung  his 
bow  and  arrows  in  a quiver  of  a jaguar’s 
skin ; at  his  waist  a bullet-bag,  his  pow- 
der-flask, his  long  hunting-knife,  and  his 
club.  His  shield  hung  on  his  left  hip, 
while  his  gun  lay  across  the  neck  of 
his  horse,  which  wore  a magnificent 
panther  skin  for  a saddle.  The  appear- 
ance of  this  savage  child  of  the  woods, 
whose  cloak  and  long  plumes  fluttered 
in  the  wind,  curveting  on  a steed  as  un- 
tamed as  himself,  had  something  about 
it  striking,  and,  at  the  same  time,  grand. 

Natah  Otann  was  the  first  sachem  of 
his  tribe.  He  made  the  hunter  a sign 
to  mount  a horse  one  of  the  warriors 
held  by  the  bridle,  and  the  whole  party 
proceeded  at  a gallop  towards  the  camp 
ol  the  tribe.  They  rode  onward  in  si- 
lence, and  the  chief  seemed  to  pay  no 
attention  to  his  prisoner.  The  latter — 
free  in  appearance,  and  mounted  on  an 
excellent  horse — made  not  the  slightest 
attempt  to  escape ; at  a glance  he  had 
calculated  his  position  ; he  saw  that  the 
Indians  did  not  lose  sight  of  him,  and 
that  he  should  be  immediately  recap- 
tured if  he  attempted  flight.  The  Pie- 
kanns  had  formed  their  camp  on  the 
slope  of  a wooded  hill.  For  two  days 
they  seem  to  have  forgotten  their  pris- 
oner, to  whom  they  never  once  spoke. 
On  the  evening  of  the  second  day, 
Brighteye  was  carelessly  walking  about 
and  smoking  his  pipe,  when  Natah 
Otann  approached  him. 

“ Is  m}  brother  ready?”  he  asked  him. 

“For  what  ?”  the  hunter  said,  stop- 
ping and  pouring  forth  a volume  of 
smoke. 

“ To  die,”  the  chief  continued,  lacon- 
ically. 

“ Quite.” 

“ Good ; my  brother  will  die  to  mor- 
row.” 


“ Do  you  think  so  ?”  the  hunter  re- 
plied with  great  coolness. 

The  Indian  looked  at  him  for  a mo- 
ment in  amazement ; then  he  repeated, 
“ My  brother  will  die  to  morrow.” 

“ I heard  you  perfectly  well,  chief,” 
the  Canadian  said,  with  a smile  ; “ and 
1 repeat  again,  Do  you  believe  it  ?” 

“ Let  my  brother  look,”  the  sachem 
said,  with  a significant  gesture. 

The  hunter  raised  his  head. 

“ Bah  !”  he  said  carelessly  ; “ I see 
that  all  the  preparations  are  made,  and 
carefully  so;  but  what  does  that  prove? 
I am  not  dead  yet,  I suppose  ?” 

“ No,  but  my  brother  will  soon  be 
so.” 

“We  shall  see  to-morrow,”  Bright- 
eye answered,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

And  leaving  the  astonished  chief,  he 
lay  down  at  the  foot  of  a tree  and  fell 
asleep.  His  sleep  was  so  real,  that  the 
Indians  were  obliged  to  wake  him  the 
next  morning  at  daybreak.  The  Cana- 
dian opened  his  eyes,  yawned  two  or 
three  times,  as  if  going  to  put  his  jaw 
out,  and  got  up.  The  redskins  led  him 
to  the  post  of  torture,  to  which  he  was 
firmly  lastened. 

“ Well !”  Natah  Otann  said,  with  a 
grin ; “ what  does  my  brother  think  at 
present  ?” 

“ Eh !”  Brighteye  answered,  with 
that  magnificent  coolness  which  neyer 
deserted  him ; “ do  you  fancy  that  I 
am  already  dead  ?” 

“ No  ; but  my  brother  will  be  in  an 
hour.” 

“ Bah  !”  the  Canadian  said,  carelessly; 
“ many  things  can  happen  withii>  an 
hour.” 

Natah  Otann  withdrew,  secretly  ad- 
miring the  intrepid  couutenance  of  his 
prisoner ; but,  after  taking  a few  steps, 
he  reflected,  and  returned  to  Bright- 
eye’s  side. 

“ Let  my  brother  listen,”  he  said,  “ a 
friend  speaks  to  him.” 

“ Go  on,  chief,  I am  all  ears.” 

“My  brother  is  a strong  man;  his 
heart  is  great,”  Natah  Otann  said  ; “ he 
is  a terrible  warrior.” 

“ You  know  something  of  that,  chief, 
I fancy,”  the  Canadian  replied. 

The  sachem  repressed  a start  of  an- 
ger. 


24 


TIIE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


“My  brother’s  eye  is  infallible,  his 
arm  is  sure,”  he  went  on. 

“ Tell  me  at  once  what  you  want  to 
come  to,  chief,  and  don’t  waste  your 
time  in  your  Indian  beating  about  the 
bush.” 

The  chief  smiled  as  he  said,  in  a gen- 
tler voice,  “ Brighteye  is  alone,  his 
]odge  is  solitary.  Why  has  not  so 
great  a warrior  a companion1?” 

The  hunter  fixed  a searching  glance 
on  the  speaker. 

“ What  does  that  concern  you  *?”  he 
said. 

Natah  Otann  continued, — 

“ The  nation  of  the  Blackfeet  is  pow- 
erful ; the  young  women  of  the  Pie- 
kann  tribe  are  fair.” 

The  Canadian  quickly  interrupted 
him. 

“ Enough,  chief,”  he  said  ; “ in  spite 
of  all  your  shiftings  to  reach  your 
point,  1 have  guessed  your  meaning  ; 
but  l will  never  take  an  Indian  girl  to 
be  my  wife  ; so  you  can  refrain  from 
further  offers,  which  will  not  have  a sat- 
isfactory result.” 

Natah  Otann  frowned. 

“ Dog  of  the  pale  faces,”  he  cried, 
stamping  his  foot  madly,  “this  night  my 
young  men  will  make  war-whistles  of 
thy  bones,  and  will  drink  the  fire-water 
out  of  thy  skull.” 

With  this  terrible  threat,  the  chief 
finally  quitted  the  hunter,  who  observ- 
ed him  depart  with  a shrug,  and  mut- 
tered, “The  last  word  is  not  spoken' 
yet ; this  is  not  the  first  time  1 have 
found  myself  in  a desperate  position, 
but  I have  escaped  ; there  are  no  rea- 
sons why  I should  be  less  lucky  to- 
day. Humph  ! this  will  seive  me  as  a 
lesson  : another  time  I will  be  more 
prudent.” 

In  the  meantime  the  chief  had  given 
orders  to  begin  the  punishment,  and 
the  preparations  were  rapidly  made. 
Brighteye  followed  all  the  movements 
of  the  Indians  with  a curious  eye,  as  if 
he  were  a perfectly  unconcerned  wit- 
ness. 

“ Yes,  yes,”  he  went  on,  “ my  fine 
fellows,  I see  you;  you  are  preparing 
all  the  instruments  for  my  torture ; 
there  is  the  green  wood  intend -*d  to 
smoke  me  like  a ham  ; you  are  cutting 


the  spikes  you  mean  to  run  up  under 
my  nails.  Eh,  eh'?”  he  added,  with  a 
perfect  air  of  satisfaction  ; “ you  are 
going  to  begin  with  firing;  let’s  see 
how  skillful  you  are.  Ah,  what  fun  it 
is  for  you  to  have  a white  hunter  to 
torture.  The  Lord  knows  what  strange 
ideas  may  be  passing  through  your  In- 
dian noddles;  but  I recommend  you  to 
make  haste,  or  it  is  very  possible  1 may 
escape.” 

During  this  monologue,  twenty  war- 
riors, the  most  skillful  of  the  tribe,  had 
ranged  themselves  about  one  hundred 
yards  from  the  prisoner  ; the  firing 
commenced  ; the  balls  all  struck  with- 
in an  inch  of  the  hunter’s  head,  who,  at 
each  shot,  shook  his  head  like  a drown- 
ing sparrow,  to  the  great  delight  of  the 
spectators.  This  amusement  had  gone 
on  for  some  twenty  minutes,  and  would 
probably  have  continued  much  longer, 
so  great  was  the  fun  it  afforded  the 
Blackfeet;  when  suddenly  a horseman 
bounded  into  the  centre  of  the  clearing, 
dispersed  the  Indians  in  his  way  by 
heavy  blows  of  his  whip,  and  profiting 
by  the  stupor  occasioned  by  his  unex- 
pected appearance,  galloped  up  to  the 
prisoner,  got  down,  quickly  cut  the 
thongs  that  bound  him,  thrust  a brace 
of  pistols  in  his  hand,  and  remounted. 
All  this  was  done  in  less  time  than  it 
has  taken  us  to  write  it. 

“ Burn  me  !”  Brighteye  joyfully  ex- 
claimed, “ I was  quite  sure  1 wasn’t  to 
die  this  time.” 

The  Indians  are  not  the  men  to  allow 
themselves  to  be  subdued  by  any  feel- 
ing ; the  first  moment  of  surprise  past, 
they  surrounded  the  horseman,  shout- 
ing, gesticulating,  and  brandishing  their 
weapons  furiously. 

“ Come,  make  way,  there,  you  scoun- 
drels,” the  new-comer  shouted  in  a 
commanding  voice,  lashing  violently 
at  those  who  had  the  imprudence  lo 
come  too  near  him.  “Let  us  be  off,” 
he  added,  turning  to  the  hunter. 

“ I wish  for  nothing  better,”  the  lat- 
ter made  answer ; “ but  it  does  not 
seem  easy.” 

“ Bah  ! let  us  try  it,  at  any  rate,”  the 
stranger  continued,  carefully  fixing  his 
glass  in  his  eye. 

“ We  will,”  Brighteye  said,  cheer- 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


25 


The  stranger  who  had  so  providen- 
tially arrived  was  the  Count  de  Beau- 
lieu, as  our  readers  will  probably  have 
conjectured. 

“ Iliiloh  !”  the  Count  shouted  loudly, 
“ come  here,  Ivon.” 

“ Here  I am,  my  lord,”  a voice  an- 
swered from  the  forest ; and  a second 
horseman,  leaping  into  the  clearing, 
ooolly  ranged  himself  by  the  side  of 
the  first. 

There  was  something  strange  in  the 
group  formed  by  these  three  stoical 
men  in  the  midst  of  the  hundreds  of 
Indians  yelling  around  them.  The 
Count,  with  his  glass  in  his  eye,  his 
haughty  glance,  and  disdainful  lip,  was 
setting  the  hammer  of  his  rifle.  Bright- 
eye,  with  a pistol  in  each  hand,  was 
preparing  to  sell  his  life  dearly,  while 
the  servant  calmly  awaited  the  order 
to  charge  the  savages.  The  Indians, 
furious  at  the  audacity  of  the  white 
men,  were  preparing,  with  multitudin- 
ous yells  and  gestures,  to  take  a prompt 
vengeance  on  the  men  who  had  so  im- 
prudently placed  themselves  in  their 
power. 

“ These  Indians  are  very  ugly,”  the 
Count  said  ; “ now  that  you  are  free, 
my  friend,  we  have  nothing  more  to 
do  here,  so  let  us  be  off.” 

And  he  made  a sign,  as  if  to  force  a 
passage.  The  Blackfeet  moved  for- 
ward. 

“ Take  care,”  Brighteye  shouted. 

“ Nonsense,”  the  Count  said,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders,  “ can  these  scamps 
intend  to  bar  the  way  ?” 

The  hunter  looked  at  him  with  the 
air  of  a man  who  does  not  know  exact- 
ly if  he  has  to  do  with  a madman  or  a 
being  endowed  with  reason,  so  extraor- 
dinary did  this  remark  seem  to  him. 
The  Count  dug  his  spurs  into  his  horse. 

“ Well  ” Brighteye  muttered,  “ he 
will  be  killed,  but  for  all  that  he  is  a 
fine  fellow  : I will  not  leave  him.” 

In  truth  it  was  a critical  moment : 
the  Indians,  formed  in  close  column, 
were  preparing  to  make  a desperate 
charge  on  the  three  men  — a charge 
which  would,  probably,  be  decisive,  for 
the  whites,  without  shelter,  and  entirely 
exposed  to  the  shots  of  their  enemies, 
could  not  hope  to  escape.  Not  noticing 


the  gestures  and  hostile  cries  of  the 
redskins,  he  advanced  towards  them, 
with  his  glass  still  in  his  eye.  Since 
the  Count’s  apparition,  the  Indian  sa- 
chem, as  if  struck  with  stupor  at  the 
sight,  had  not  made  a move,  but  stood 
with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  him,  under  the 
influence  of  extraordinary  emotion.  Sud- 
denly, at  the  moment  when  the  Black- 
feet  warriors  were  shouldering  their 
guns,  or  fitting  their  arrows  to  the 
bows,  Natali  Otann  seemed  to  form  a 
resolution  : he  rushed  forward,  and 

raising  his  buffalo  robe, — 

“ Stop  !”  he  shouted,  in  a loud  voice. 

The  Indians,  obedient  to  their  chief’s 
voice,  immediately  halted.  The  sachem 
took  three  steps,  bow'ed  respectfully  be- 
fore the  Count,  and  said  in  a submissive 
voice  : 

“ My  father  must  pardon  his  children, 
they  did  not  know  him  : but  my  father 
is  great,  his  power  is  immense,  his  good- 
ness is  infinite  : he  will  forget  anything 
offensive  in  their  conduct  toward  him.” 

Brighteye  astonished  at  this  harangue, 
translated  it  to  the  Count,  honestly  con- 
fessing that  he  did  not  understand  what 
it  meant. 

“ By  Jove  !”  the  Count  replied,  with 
a smile,  “ they  are  afraid.” 

“ Hum  !”  the  hunter  muttered,  “ that 
is  not  so  clear  ; it  is  something  else  ; 
but  no  matter,  it  will  be  diamond  cut 
diamond.” 

Then  he  turned  to  Natah  Otann. 

“ The  great  pale  chief,”  he  said,  “ is 
satisfied  with  the  respect  his  red  children 
feel  for  him  : he  pardons  them.” 

Natah  Otann  made  a movement  of 
joy.  The  three  men  passed  through 
the  ranks  of  the  Indians,  and  buried 
themselves  in  the  forest,  their  retreat 
being  in  no  way  impeded. 

“Ouf  !”  Brighteye  said,  so  soon  as  he 
found  himself  in  safety,  “ I’m  well  out 
of  that  ; but,”  he  added,  shaking  his 
head,  “ there  is  something  extraordinary 
about  the  matter  which  I cannot  fath- 
om.” 

“ Now,  my  friend,”  the  count  said  to 
him,  “ you  are  free  to  go  whither  you 
please.” 

The  hunter  thought  for  an  instant. 

“ Bah  !”  he  replied,  after  a few  mo- 
ments had  passed,  “ 1 owe  you  my  life. 


26 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRTE. 


Although  I do  not  know  you,  you  strike 
me  as  a good  fellow.” 

“ You  flatter  me,”  the  Count  remark- 
ed, smiling. 

“ My  faith,  no  : f say  what  I think. 
Jf  you  are  agreeable  we  will  stay  to- 
gether, at  any  rate  until  I have  acquit- 
ted the  debt  I owe  you  by  saving  your 
life  in  my  turn.” 

The  Count  offered  him  his  hand. 

“ Thanks,  my  friend,”  he  said,  much 
moved  ; “ 1 accept  your  offer.” 

“ That  is  settled,  then,”  the  hunter 
joyfully  exclaimed,  as  he  pressed  the 
offered  hand. 

Brighteye,  at  first  attached  to  the 
Count  by  gratitude,  soon  felt  quite  a 
paternal  affection  for  him.  But  he  un- 
derstood no  more  than  the  first  day,  the 
you'  g man’s  behavior,  for  he  acted  un- 
der all  circumstances  as  if  he  were  in 
France,  and,  by  his  rashness,  universal- 
ly foiled  the  hunter’s  Indian  experience. 
This  was  carried  so  far,  that  the  Cana- 
dian, superstitious  like  all  primitive  na- 
tures, soon  grew  into  the  persuasion 
that  the  Count’s  life  was  protected  by  a 
charm,  so  many  times  had  he  seen  him 
emerge  victoriously  from  positions  in 
which  any  one  else  would  have  infalli- 
bly succumbed. 

At  length,  nothing  appeared  to  him 
impossible  with  such  a companion,  and 
the  most  extraordinary  propositions  the 
Count  made  him  seemed  perfectly  feas- 
ible, the  more  so  as  success  crowned  all 
their  enterprises  by  some  incomprehen- 
sible charm,  and  in  a way  contrary  to 
all  foresight.  The  Indians,  by  a strict 
agreement,  had  given  up  all  contests 
■with  them,  and  even  avoided  any  con- 
tact : if  they  perceived  them  at  any 
time,  all  the  red  men,  whatever  tribe 
they  might  belong  to,  treated  the  Count 
with  the  utmost  deference,  and  address- 
ed him  with  an  expression  of  terror 
mingled  with  love,  the  explanation  of 
which  the  hunter  sought  in  vain,  for 
none  of  the  Indians  could  or  would  give 
it. 

This  state  of  things  had  lasted  for  six 
months  up  to  the  moment  when  we  saw 
the  three  men  breakfasting  on  the  banks 
of  the  Mississippi.  We  will  now  take 
up  our  story  again  at  the  point  where 
we  left  it,  terminating  our  explanation, 


which  was  indispensable  for  the  right 
comprehension  of  what  follows. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A TRAIL  DISCOVERED. 

Our  friends  would  probably  have  re- 
mained for  a long  time  plunged  in  their 
present  state  of  beatitude,  had  not  a 
slight  sound  in  the  river  suddenly  re- 
called them  to  the  exigencies  of  their 
position. 

“ What’s  that  ?”  the  Count  said,  flip- 
ping off  the  ash  from  his  cigar. 

Brighteye  glided  among  the  shrubs, 
looked  for  a moment,  and  then  calmly 
returned  to  his  seat. 

“ Nothing,”  he  said ; “ two  alligators 
sporting  in  the  mud.” 

“ Ah  !”  the  Count  said.  There  was 
a moment’s  silence,  during  which  the 
hunter  mentally  calculated  the  length 
of  the  shadow  of  the  trees  on  the 
ground. 

“ It  is  past  mid-day,”  he  said. 

“ You  think  so,”  the  young  man  ro 
marked. 

“ No  ; I am  sure  of  it,  sir  Count.” 

“ Confound  you ! you  are  at  it  again,” 
the  young  man  said  with  a smile.  “ I 
have  told  you  to  call  me  by  my  Christ- 
ian name  ; but  if  you  do  not  like  that, 
call  me  like  the  Indians.” 

“ Nay  !”  the  hunter  objected. 

“ What  is  the  name  they  gave  me, 
Brighteye.  I have  forgotten.” 

“ Oh  ! I should  not  like,  sir ” 

“ Eh  V 

“ Edward,  I meant  to  say.” 

“ Come,  that  is  better,”  the  young 
man  remarked  laughingly  ; “ but  I 

must  beg  of  you  to  repeat  the  nick- 
name.” 

“ They  call  you  ‘ Glass-eye.’  ” 

“ Oh,  yes  ! that’s  it ;”  the  Count  con- 
tinued his  laugh.  “ Only  Indians  could 
have  such  an  idea  as  that.” 

“ Oh  !”  Brighteye  went  on,  “ the  In- 
. dians  are  not  what  you  suppose  them  ; 
they  are  as  crafty  as  the  demon.” 

“ Come,  stop  that,  Brighteye  ; I al- 
ways suspected  you  of  having  a weak- 
ness for  the  redskins.” 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


“ How  can  you  say  that,  when  I am 
their  obstinate  enemy,  and  have  been 
fighting  them  for  the  last  forty  ^ears 
“ That  is  the  very  reason  that  makes 
you  defend  them.” 

“ How  so  ?”  the  hunter  said,  astonish- 
ed at  this  conclusion,  which  he  was  far 
from  expecting. 

“ For  a very  simple  reason.  No  one 
likes  to  contend  with  enemies  unworthy 
of  him,  and  it  is  quite  natural  you 
should  try  to  elevate  those  against 
whom  you  have  been  fighting  for  forty 
years.” 

The  hunter  shook  his  head. 

“Mr.  Edward,”  he  said,  with  a 
thoughtful  air,  “ the  red  men  are  people 
whom  it  takes  many  a long  year  to 
know.  They  possess  at  once  the  craft 
of  the  opossum,  the  prudence  of  the 
serpent,  and  the  courage  of  the  cougar. 
A few  years  hence  you  will  not  despise 
them  as  you  do  now.” 

“ My  good  fellow,”  the  Count  object- 
ed, “ I hope  I shall  have  left  the  prai- 
ries within  a year.  I am  yearning  for 
a civilized  life.  I want  Paris,  with  its 
opera  and  balls.  No,  no  ; the  desert 
does  not  suit  me.” 

The  hunter  shook  his  head  a second 
time.  Then  he  continued  with  a mourn- 
ful accent,  which  struck  the  young  man, 
and  as  if  rather  speaking  to  himself 
than  replying  to  the  Count’s  remarks  : 
“ Yes,  yes  ; that  is  the  way  with  Eu- 
ropeans : when  they  arrive  on  the  prai- 
ries, they  regret  civilized  life,  and  the 
desert  is  only  gradually  appreciated  ; 
but  when  a man  has  breathed  the  odors 
of  the  savannah,  when  during  long 
nights  he  has  listened  to  the  rustling  of 
the  wind  in  the  virgin  forests — when  he 
has  admired  that  proud  landscape  which 
owes  nothing  to  art,  where  the  hand  of 
God  is  imprinted  at  each  step  with  in- 
effaceable characters  : when  he  has 
gazed  on  the  glorious  scenes  that  rise 
in  succession  before  him — then  he  begins 
bv  degrees  to  love  this  unknown  world, 
so  full  of  mysteries  and  strange  inci- 
dents, his  eyes  are  opened  to  the  truth, 
and  he  repudiates  the  falsehoods  of  civ- 
ilization. At  such  a moment  he  expe- 
riences emotions  full  of  secret  charms, 
and  recognizing  no  other  master  save 
that  God,  in  whose  presence  he  feels 
2 


so  small,  he  forgets  everything  to  lead 
a nomadic  life,  and  remains  in  the  des- 
ert, because  there  alone  he  feels  free, 
happy — a man,  in  a word  ! Ah,  sir, 
whatever  you  may  say,  whatever  you 
may  do,  the  desert  now  holds  you  : you 
have  tasted  its  joys  and  its  griefs  ; it 
will  not  allow  you  to  depart  so  easily 
— you  will  not  see  France  again  so  spee- 
dily— the  desert  will  retain  you  in  spite 
of  yourself.” 

The  young  man  had  listened,  with  an 
emotion  for  which  he  could  not  account, 
to  this  long  harangue.  In  his  heart  he 
recognize  i,  through  the  hunter’s  exag- 
geration, the  justice  of  his  reasoning, 
and  felt  startled  at  being  compelled  to 
allow  him  to  be  in  the  right.  Not  know- 
ing what  to  reply,  or  feeling  that  he  was 
beaten,  the  Count  suddenly  turned  the 
conversation. 

“ Humph  !”  he  began,  “ I think  you 
said  it  was  past  twelve  V’ 

“ About  a quarter  past,”  the  hunter 
answered. 

The  Count  consulted  his  watch. 

“ Quite  right,”  he  said. 

“ Oh  !”  the  hunter  continued,  point- 
ing to  the  sun,  “ that  is  the  only  true 
clock;  it  never  goes  too  fast  or  too 
slow,  for  Heaven  regulates  it.” 

The  youi.g  man  bowed  his  head  af- 
firmatively. 

“ VVe  will  start,”  he  said. 

“ For  what  good  at  this  moment  T” 
the  Canadian  asked.  “We  have  no- 
thing pressing  before  us.” 

“That  is  true  ; but  are  you  sure  we 
have  not  lost  our  way 

“ Lost  our  way  !”  the  hunter  exclaim- 
ed, with  a start  of  surprise,  almost  of 
anger  ; “ no,  no,  it  is  impossible.  I 
guarantee  that  within  a week  we  shall 
be  on  Lake  Itasca.” 

“ The  Mississippi  really  runs  from 
that  lake  ?” 

“Yes  ; for  in  spite  of  what  is  assert- 
ed, the  Missouri  is  only  the  principal 
branch  of  that  river  : the  savans  would 
have  done  better  to  assure  themselves 
of  the  fact,  ere  they  declared  that  the 
Mississippi  and  Missouri  are  two  sepa- 
rate rivers.” 

“ What  would  you  have,  Brighteye 
the  Count  said,  laughingly.  “ Savans 
are  the  same  in  all  countries  ; being 


28 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


naturally  indolent,  they  rely  on  one  an- 
other, and  hence  the  infinity  of  absur- 
dities they  put  in  circulation  with  the 
most  astounding  coolness.’’ 

“ The  Indians  are  never  mistaken.” 
“ That  is  true  ; but  then  the  Indians 
are  not  savans,” 

“ No  ; they  see  for  themselves  and 
only  assert  what  they  are  sure  of.” 

“ That  is  what  I meant  to  say,”  the 
Count  replied. 

“ If  you  will  listen  to  me,  Mr.  Ed- 
ward, we  ''  ill  remain  here  a few  hours 
longer  to  let  the  great  heat  pass  off,  and 
when  the  sun  is  going  down  we  will 
start  again.” 

“ Very  good  ; let  us  rest  then.  Ivon 
appeal  s to  be  thoroughly  of  our  opinion, 
for  he  has  not  stirred.” 

The  Count  had  risen  ; before  sitting 
down  again,  he  mechanically  cast  a 
glance  on  the  immense  plain  which  lay 
so  calmly  and  majestically  at  his  feet. 

“ Eh  !”he  suddenly  exclaimed,  “ what 
is  that  down  there  ? — look,  Rrighteye.” 
The  hunter  rose  and  looked  in  the  di- 
rection indicated  by  the  Count. 

“ Well  ! do  you  see  nothing  V1  the 
young  man  remarked. 

Brighteye,  with  his  hand  over  his 
eyes  to  shield  them  from  the  glare  of 
the  sun,  looked  attentively  without  re- 
plying. 

“ Well,”  the  Count  said,  at  the  expira- 
tion o'  a moment. 

“ We  are  no  longer  alone,”  the  hun- 
ter answered  ; “ there  are  men  down 
there.” 

“ How,  men  ? We  have  seen  no  In- 
dian trail.” 

“ 1 did  not  say  they  were  Indians.” 

“ Hum  ! I suppose  at  this  distance  it 
would  be  rather  difficult  to  decide  who 
they  are.” 

Brighteye  smiled. 

“ You  always  judge  from  your  knowl- 
edge obtained  in  the  civilized  world, 
Mr.  Edward,”  he  answered. 

“ Which  means — V1  the  young  man 
said,  intensely  piqued  at  the  observa- 
tion. 

“ That  you  are  always  wrong.” 

“ Hang  it,  my  friend  ! you  will  allow 
me  to  observe,  all  individuality  apart, 
that  it  is  impossible  at  this  distance  to 
recognize  anybody.  Especially  when 


nothing  can  be  distinguished,  save  a lit- 
tle white  smoke.” 

“ Is  not  that  enough  1 Do  you  be- 
lieve that  all  smoke  is  alike.” 

“That  is  rather  a subtle  distinction  : 
and  I confess  that  to  me  all  smoke  is 
alike.” 

“That’s  where  the  error  is,”  the  Ca- 
nadian continued  with  great  coolness, 

“ and  when  you  have  spent  a few  years 
on  the  prairie  you  wi;l  not  be  deceived.” 
The  Count  looked  at  him  attentively, 
convinced  that  he  was  laughing  at  him  ; 
but  the  other  continued  with  the  utmost 
calmness  : 

“ What  we  notice  down  there  is  neith- 
er the  fire  of  Indians  nor  of  hunters, 
but  is  kindled  by  white  men  not  yet 
accustomed  to  a desert  life.” 

“ Perhaps  you  will  have  the  goodness 
to  explain.” 

“ I will  do  so,  and  you  will  soon  al- 
low that  I am  correct.  Listen,  Mr. 
Edward,  for  this  is  important  to  know.” 
“I  am  listening,  my  good  fellow.” 

“ You  are  not  ignorant,”  the  hunter 
continued  unmoved ly,  “ that  what  is 
called  the  desert  is  largely  populated.” 
“ True,  l am  not,”  the  young  man 
said,  smiling. 

“ Well,  but  the  enemies  most  to  be 
shunned  on  the  prairies  are  not  wild 
beasts,  but  men  ; Indians  and  whites 
know  this  so  well  that  they  as  soon  as 
possible  apply  themselves  to  destroying 
marks  of  their  passing  and  conceal  their 
presence.” 

“ I admit  that.” 

“Very  well ; when  Indians  or  whites 
are  obliged  to  kindle  a fire,  whether  to 
cook  food  or  to  keep  off  cold,  they  se- 
lect with  the  utmost  care  the  fuel  they 
need  to  burn,  and  take  the  precaution 
to  never  employ  other  than  dry  wood.v 

“ I don’t  see  why  that  more  than  any 
other.” 

“ You  shall  see,”  the  hunter  returned. 
“ Dry  wood  only  gives  forth  a light 
bluish  smoke,  which  is  easily  confound- 
ed with  the  sky  and  is  at  a slight  dis- 
tance invisible,  while  green  wo  d,  being 
damp,  sends  forth  a thick,  white  vapor 
which  from  afar  signals  the  whereabouts 
of  those  that  lit  the  fire.  Hence  why, 
at  a glance  at  yonder  smoke,  I told  you 
just  now  that  the  people  down  there 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


29 


were  whites,  and  strangers  to  the  wil- 
derness, else  they  would  have  used 
proper  fuel.” 

“ By  Jove  !”  the  young  man  exclaim- 
ed, “ that  is  curious,  and  I would  like 
to  be  completely  sure.” 

“ What  do  you  want  to  do  ?” 

“ Why,  go  to  find  out  who  they  are 
who  have  lit  that  fire.” 

“ Why  disturb  yourself,  when  I have 
said  so  ?” 

“ I ought  not,  but  what  I do  is  for  my 
personal  satisfaction  ; since  we  have 
lived  together,  you  have  told  me  sto- 
ries, so  out-of-the-way,  my  friend,  that 
I would  not  be  sorry  for  once  to  make 
sure  myself.” 

And  without  listening  to  the  Canadi- 
an’s remarks,  the  young  man  roused 
up  his  servant. 

“ What  do  you  want,  my  lord  V’  the 
latter  asked,  rubbing  his  eyes. 

“The  horses — be  quick,  Ivon  !” 

The  Breton  rose  and  bridled  them. 
The  Count  sprang  into  the  saddle, 
the  hunter  did  likewise,  shaking  hi^ 
head,  and  all  three  rode  down  the  hill 
at  a brisk  trot. 

“You  will  see,  Mr.  Edward,”  Bright- 
eye  said,  “ that  I was  right.” 

“ I ask  nothing  better,  still  I want  to 
be  satisfied  that  you  were.” 

“ All  right,  if  you  must  have  it  so, 
but  let  me  go  ahead — we  don’t  know 
what  game  we  may  scare  up,  and  it’s 
always  good  to  have  a scout  out.” 

The  speaker  took  the  lead  of  the  lit- 
tle party. 

The  fire  which  the  count  had  discov- 
ered from  the  hill-top,  was  not  so  close 
as  he  fancied  it  ; the  hunter  was  com- 
pelled to  unceasingly  make  turnings  in 
the  tall  grass  to  avoid  the  clumps  of 
saplings  and  masses  of  thick  brush 
which  every  instant  barred  the  way — 
which  still  more  lengthened  the  distance 
— so  it  took  nearly  two  hours  to  reach 
the  spot  they  were  proceeding  to. 

When  they  finally  had  approached 
the  fire  which  had  so  puzzled  the  Count 
de  Beaulieu,  the  Canadian  reined  in, 
making  a sign  for  his  followers  to  imi- 
tate him,  which  was  obeyed. 

Brighteye  dismounted,  handed  his 
bridle  to  Ivon,  and,  taking  his  rifle  in 
his  right  hand,  said  : 


“ I go  to  explore.” 

“ Go  on,”  the  young  man  laconically 
replied. 

The  Count  de  Beaulieu  was  a man  of 
tried  courage,  but  since  he  had  travelled 
the  prairies,  had  learnt  one  thing  ; that 
courage  without  prudence  is  madness 
against  foes  who  never  act  without 
stratagem  and  treachery  on  their  side ; 
hence,  gradually  dropping  his  chivalric 
notions,  he  began  to  adopt  the  border 
tactics,  knowing  very  well  that  in  an 
ambush  the  advantage  nearly  always 
is  his  who  first  discovers  his  opponent. 

The  Count  patiently  awaited  the  re- 
turn of  his  friend,  who  had  silently  gli- 
ded among  the  bushes  and  had  disap- 
peared in  the  direction  of  the  fire.  Ilis 
watch  was  not  protracted. 

In  short,  about  an  hour  after,  the  sap- 
lings were  bent  aside,  and  Brighteye  ap- 
peared at  a point  opposite  to  that  from 
which  he  had  started. 

The  veteran  woodsman  had  been 
somewhat  alarmed  by  the  sight  of  that 
distant  fire  which  the  Count  had  descried 
fror.~.  the  hill-top. 

When  he  had  found  himself  alone, 
he  had  put  into  practice  this  axiom  : — 
“ the  shortest  way  across  is  the  longest 
way  around” — the  truth  of  which  is 
proved  often  in  the  untracked  wilds  of 
the  West.  He  had  made  a long  circuit 
in  order  to  come  upon  the  tracks  of  the 
people  he  wished  to  observe,  and  by 
them  calculate  pretty  closely  what  sort 
of  folks  they  were. 

In  the  wilderness,  the  meeting  most 
dreaded  is  one  with  a fellow  being.  Ev- 
ery stranger  is  an  enemy,  so  the  cus- 
tomary salutations  are  exchanged  at  a 
distance  with  rifles  ready  to  be  aimed 
and  finger  on  the  trigger. 

With  that  keen  eyesight  which  his 
life  had  given  him,  Brighteye  had  caught 
sight  of  a broad  line  along  which  the 
grass  was  down-trodden  and  cut  up, 
marking  without  fail  the  path  by  w hich 
the  strangers  had  proceeded. 

The  hunter,  stooping  to  prevent  being 
himself  discovered  above  the  grass,  ere 
long  reached  a space  through  which  ran 
two  parallel  ruts,  about  four  feet  apart, 
their  end  one  way  lost  in  a forest  a lit- 
tle way  off. 

After  halting  a moment  to  recove! 


30 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRATRTE. 


breath,  the  Canadian  grounded  his  piece 
and  began  seriously  studying  the  deep- 
ly impressed  prints  on  the  soil. 

His  scrutiny  lasted,  say  ten  minutes, 
when  he  lifted  up  his  face  with  a smile 
upon  it,  shouldered  his  rifle  and  quietly 
regained  the  place  where  he  had  left  his 
companions,  without  giving  himself  the 
pains  to  go  on  to  the  fire.  The  brief 
examination  had  been  enough  to  teach 
him  all  he  had  wanted  to  learn. 

“ Well,  Brighteye,  what  news  ?”  the 
Count  inquired  on  seeing  him. 

“ The  lighters  of  the  fire  we  saw,’’ 
the  hunter  responded,  “ are  American 
settlers,  pioneers  who  mean  to  build  a 
cabin  in  the  untrodden  wilds.  It  is  a 
family  of  four  men,  two  women,  with 
a wagon  holding  their  heavy  effects,  and 
with  a good  herd  of  cattle.” 

“ To  horse,  brave  Brighteye  ! let  us 
give  the  bold  settlers  the  welcome  to 
the  free  lands.” 

The  hunter  stood  thoughtful  and  with- 
out stirring,  leaning  on  his  rifle. 

“ Well,”  the  Count  resumed,  “ did 
you  not  hear  me,  friend 

“ Yes.  Mr.  Edward,  I heard  you,  but 
among  their  footsteps  I discovered  oth- 
ers which  looked  suspicious,  and  I would 
like,  before  approaching  their  camping- 
ground,  to  scout  in  the  neighborhood.” 
“ What  kind  of  steps  do  you  speak 
of,  friend  ?”  the  Count  quickly  asked. 

“ Hum  !”  the  hunter  said,  “ you  are 
aware  that,  rightly  or  wrongly,  the  red 
men  assert  to  be  lords  of  the  prairies, 
and  never  submit  to  white  men’s  pres- 
ence.” 

“ 1 should  say  they  wTere  right  ; ever 
since  the  discovery  of  America,  the 
whites  have  gradually  driven  them  from 
their  territory  and  crowded  them  back 
from  the  frontier  : they  are  only  defend- 
ing their  last  standing-ground.” 

“ Well,  Mr.  Edward,  I am  too  of  that 
way  of  thinking.  Hunters  and  redskins 
ought  to  keep  these  regions  to  them- 
selves— with  a brush  between  them  ev- 
ery now  and  then — and  let  no  cabins  be 
put  up,  or  towns  be  started  anywhere 
here.  However,  that  is  not  what  1 in- 
tended to  say  : 1 saw  by  certain  tokens 
that  on  the  trail  of  the  little  party  fol- 
low an  Indian  band,  w hich  likely  enough 


is  on  the  alert  for  a chance  to  massacre 
them.” 

“The  deuce  !”  the  young  man  exclai- 
med, “this  is  serious — of  course  you 
warned  the  party  of  the  danger  threat- 
ening them  V’ 

“ Not  a bit  of  it  ! I never  spoke  to 
them — let  alone  saw  them.” 

“ What — did  not  see  them  1” 

“No.  the  moment  1 found  the  Indian 
signs,  I hastened  to  return  to  hold  coun- 
cil with  you.” 

“ Very  well,  but,  then,  if  you  did 
not  go  to  their  camp,  how  could  you 
tell  that  they  were  Americans,  six  in 
number,  four  males  and  six  females — in 
short,  how  could  you  give  such  precise 
information  !” 

“Oh,  very  easily,”  the  hunter  simply 
replied,  “ the  face  of  the  country  is  a 
book,  written  wholly  by  the  hand  of 
Heaven,  and  to  th  •.  man  able  to  read  it, 
none  of  its  secrets  are  secret — a few 
minutes’  look  at  the  marks  told  me  all.” 

The  Count  de  Beaulieu  rivetted  on 
the  speaker  an  astonished  gaze  ; though 
more  than  six  months  living  in  the  wild- 
erness, he  could  not  yet  understand  that 
never  mistaking  guess-work  with  which 
the  hunter  found  out  things,  to  him  dead 
letter. 

“But,”  he  said,  “ may  not  the  Indians 
whose  traces  you  saw,  be  harmless  hun- 
ters ?” 

Brighteye  shook  his  head. 

“ There  are  no  harmless  hunters 
among  the  Indians,  especially  when 
they  are  on  the  trail  of  white  men. 
These  Indians  belong  to  three  plunder- 
ing tribes  which  I am  surprised  to  see 
united  ; they  doubtlessly  meditate  an 
extraordinary  expedition,  in  which  the 
massacre  of  these  emigrants  will  be 
one  of  the  least  interesting  episodes'?” 

“ Who  are  these  Indians  ? Do  you 
think  they  are  numerous?” 

The  hunter  reflected  for  a moment. 

“The  party  I discovered  is  probably 
only  the  vanguard  of  a more  numerous 
band,”  he  answered  ; “ as  far  as  I could 
judge,  there  was  not  more  than  forty  ; 
but  the  redskin  warriors  march  with 
the  speed  of  the  antelope,  and  they  can 
hardly  ever  be  counted;  the  party  is 
composed  of  Comanches,  B.ackfeet  and 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


31 


Sioux  ; that  is  to  say,  the  three  most 
warlike  tribes  in  the  prairie.” 

“ Hum  !”  the  Count  remarked,  af  er 
a moment’s  reflection,  “ if  these  demons 
really  mean  to  attack  the  Americans,  as 
everything  leads  us  to  suppose,  the 
poor  fellows  appear  to  be  in  an  awk- 
ward position.” 

“ Unless  a miracle  occur,  they  are 
lost,”  the  hunter  said,  concisely. 

“ What  is  to  be  done — how  to  warn 
them  ?” 

“ Mr.  Edward,  take  care  what  you 
are  going  to  do.” 

“ Still  we  cannot  allow  men  of  our 
own  color  to  be  murdered  almost  in 
our  presence  ; that  would  be  cowardly.” 
“ Yes  ; but  it  would  be  astounding 
folly  to  join  them  ; reflect  that  there 
are  only  three  of  us.” 

“ I know  it,”  the  young  man  said, 
thoughtfully,  “ still  I would  never  con- 
sent to  abandon  these  poor  people  with- 
out trying  to  defend  them.” 

“ Stay,  there  is  only  one  thing  to  be 
done,  and  perhaps  heaven  will  come  to 
our  aid.” 

“ Come,  be  brief,  my  friend,  time 
presses.” 

“In  all  probability,  the  Indians  have 
not  yet  discovered  our  trail,  although 
they  must  be  a short  distance  from  us. 
Let  us,  then,  return  to  the  spot*  where 
we  breakfasted,  and  which  commands 
the  entire  prairie.  The  Indians  never 
attack  their  enemy  before  four  in  the 
morning  ; so  soon  as  they  attempt  their 
attack  on  the  emigrants,  we  will  fall  on 
their  rear;  surprised  at  the  sudden  aid 
given  the  Americans,  it  is  possible  they 
will  fly,  for  the  darkness  will  prevent 
them  counting  us,  and  they  will  never 
suppose  that  three  men  were  so  mad  as 
to  make  an  attack  upon  them.” 

“By  Jove!”  the  Count  said,  laugh 
ing,  “ that  is  a good  idea  of  yours, 
Brighteye,  and  such  as  I expected  from 
so  brave  a hunter  as  yourself ; let  us 
hurry  back  to  our  observatory,  so  as  to 
be  ready  for  every  event.” 

The  Canadian  leaped  on  his  horse,  and 
the  three  men  retraced  their  steps.  But 
according  to  his  custom,  Brighteye, who 
was  apparently  a sworn  foe  to  a straight 
line,  made  them  describe  an  infinite 
numb,  r of  turnings,  to  throw  out  any 


person  whom  accident  brought  on  their 
track. 

They  arrived  at  the  top  of  the  hill 
just  at  the  moment  the  sun  was  disap- 
pearing beneath  the  horizon. 

The  evening  breeze  was  rising,  and 
beginning  to  agitate  the  tops  of  the 
great  trees  with  mysterious  murmurs. 
The  howling  of  the  tigers  and  cougars 
was  already  mingled  with  the  lowing  of 
the  elks  and  buffaloes,  and  the  sharp 
yelping  of  the  red  wolves,  whose  dusky 
outlines  appeared  here  and  there  on  the 
river  bank.  The  sky  grew  more  and 
more  gloomy,  and  the  stars  began  dot- 
ting the  vault  of  heaven. 

The  three  hunters  sat  down  careless- 
ly on  the  top  of  a hill,  at  the  same  spot 
they  had  left  a few  hours  previously 
with  the  intention  of  never  returning, 
and  made  preparations  for  supper,— 
preparations  which  did  not  take  long,  for 
prudence  imperiously  ordered  them  not 
to  make  a fire,  which  would  have  at 
once  revealed  their  presence  to  the  un- 
seen eyes  which  were,  at  the  moment, 
probably  surveying  the  desert  in  every 
direction. 

While  eating  a few  mouthfuls  of 
pemmican,  they  kept  their  eyes  fixed 
on  the  camp  of  the  emigrants,  whose  fire 
was  perfectly  visible  in  the  night. 

“ Oh,  Lord  !”  Brighteye  said,  “ those 
people  are  ignorant  of  the  first  law  of 
the  desert,  else  they  would  guard  sure- 
ly against  making  a fire  which  the  In- 
dians can  see  for  ten  leagues  round.” 

“ Bah  ! that  beacon  will  guide  us 
where  to  go  to  their  aid,”  the  Count 
said. 

“ Heaven  grant  that  it  be  not  in 
vain.” 

The  meal  over,  the  hunter  invited 
the  Count  and  his  servant  to  sleep  for 
a few  hours. 

“ For  the  present,”  he  said,  “ we 
have  nothing  to  fear ; let  me  keep  a 
watch  for  all,  as  my  eyes  are  accustom- 
ed to  see  in  the  darkness.” 

The  Count  did  not  a' low  the  invita- 
tion to  be  repeated  ; he  rolled  himself 
in  his  cloak,  and  lay  down  on  the 
ground.  Two  minutes  later  himself 
and  Ivon  were  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the 
righteous.  Brighteye  took  his  seat 
against  the  trunk  of  a tree,  and  lit  a 


32 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


pipe  to  soothe  the  weariness  of  his  night 
watch.  All  at  once,  he  bent  his  body 
forward,  placed  his  ear  to  the  ground, 
and  seemed  to  be  listening  attentively. 
His  practiced  ear  had  heard  a sound  at 
first  imperceptible,  but  which  seemed 
to  be  drawing  nearer  gradually. 

The  hunter  silently  cocked  his  rifle, 
and  waited.  At  the  expiration  of  about 
a quarter  of  an  hour  there  was  a slight 
rustling  in  the  thicket,  the  branches 
parted,  and  a man  made  his  appear- 
ance. 

This  man  was  Natah  Otann,  the  sa- 
chem of  the  Piekanns. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  EMIGRANTS. 

When  he  went  out  on  the  trail,  the 
hunter’s  old  experience  did  not  deceive 
him  ; and  the  traces  he  had  followed  up 
were  really  those  of  an  emigrant  family. 
As  it  is  destined  to  play  a certain  part 
in  our  story  we  will  introduce  it  to  the 
reader,  and  explain,  as  briefly  as  pos- 
s ble,  by  what  chain  of  events  it  was  at 
this  moment  encamped  on  the  prairies 
of  the  Upper  Mississippi,  or,  to  speak 
like  the  learned,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Missouri. 

The  history  of  one  emigrant  is  that 
of  the  mass.  All  are  people  who,  bur- 
dened by  a numerous  family,  find  a 
difficulty  in  rendering  their  children  in- 
dependent, either  through  the  bad 
quality  of  the  land  they  cultivate,  or 
because,  in  proportion  as  the  population 
increases,  the  land,  in  the  course  of  a 
few  years,  gains  an  excessive  value. 

The  Mississippi  has  become  during 
the  last  few  years  the  highway  of  the 
world.  Every  vessel  that  enters  on  its 
waters  brings  the  new  establishment  the 
means  of  supplying  themselves,  either 
by  barter  or  for  money,  with  the  chief 
commodities  of  existence.  Thus  the  ex- 
plorers have  spread  along  both  banks  of 
the  river,  which  have  become  the  high- 
ways of  emigration,  by  the  prospect 
they  offer  the  pioneers  of  possessing  fine 
estates,  and  holding  them  a number  of 
years,  without  the  troublesome  process 
of  paying  rent. 


The  word  “country,”  in  ihe sense  we 
attach  to  it  in  Europe,  does  not  exist 
for  the  North  American.  He  is  not, 
like  our  rustics,  attached,  from  father  to 
son,  to  the  soil  which  has  been  the 
cradle  of  his  family.  He  is  only  at- 
tached to  the  land  by  what  it  may  bring 
him  in  ; but  when  it  is  exhausted  by  too 
large  a crop,  and  the  colonist  has  tried 
in  vain  to  restore  its  primitive  fertility, 
his  mind  is  speedily  made  up.  He  dis- 
poses of  things  too  troublesome  or  ex- 
pensive to  transport;  only  keeps  what 
is  absolutely  necessary,  as  servants, 
horses,  and  domestic  utensils ; says 
good-bye  to  his  neighbors,  who  press 
his  hand  as  if  the  journey  he  is  about  to 
undertake  is  the  simplest  matter  in  the 
world,  and  at  daybreak,  on  a fine  spring 
morning,  he  gaily  sets  out,  turning  a 
parting  and  careless  glance  at  that 
country  where  he  and  his  family  have 
lived  so  long.  His  thoughts  are  already 
directed  forward ; the  past  no  longer 
exists  for  him,  the  future  alone  smiles 
on  him  and  sustains  his  courage. 

Nothing  is  so  simple,  primitive,  and 
at  the  same  time  picturesque,  as  the 
departure  of  a family  of  pioneers.  The 
horses  are  attached  to  the  wagons,  al- 
ready laden  with  the  bed  furniture  and 
the  younger  children,  while  on  the  other 
side  are  fastened  the  spinning-wheels, 
and  swaying  behind,  a skin  filled  with 
tallow  and  pitch.  The  axes  are  laid  in 
the  bottom  of  the  cart,  and  cauldrons 
and  pots  roll  about  pell-mell  in  the 
horses’  trough  ; the  tents  and  provisions 
are  securely  fastened  under  the  vehicle, 
suspended  by  ropes.  Such  is  the  move- 
able  estate  of  the  emigrant.  The  eldest 
son,  or  a servant,  bestrides  the  first 
horse,  the  pioneer’s  wife  sits  on  the 
other.  The  emigrant  and  his  sons,  with 
shouldered  rifles,  walk  round  the  wagon, 
sometimes  in  front,  sometimes  behind, 
followed  by  their  dogs,  touching  up  the 
oxen  and  watching  over  the  common 
safety. 

Thus  they  set  out,  travelling  by  short 
stages  through  unexplored  countries  and 
along  frightful  roads,  which  they  are 
generally  compelled  themselves  to 
make ; braving  cold  and  heat,  rain  and 
snow,  striving  against  Indians  and  wild 
beasts,  seeing  at  each  spot  almost  in- 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRATRTE. 


33 


surmountable  difficulties  rising  before 
them  ; but  nothing  stops  the  emigrants, 
no  peril  can  check  them,  no  impos- 
sibility discourage  them.  They  march 
on  thus  for  who.e  months,  keeping  in- 
tact in  their  heart < that  faith  in  their 
luck  which  nothing  shakes,  until  they 
at  length  reach  a site  which  offers  them 
those  conditions  of  comfort  which  they 
have  sought  so  long. 

But,  alas  ! how  many  families  that 
have  left  the  cities  of  America  full  of 
hope  and  courage  have  disappeared, 
leaving  no  other  trace  of  their  passage 
of  the  prairie  than  their  whitened  bones 
and  scattered  furniture.  The  Indians, 
ever  on  the  watch  at  the  entrance  of  the 
desert,  attack  the  caravans,  mercilessly 
massacre  the  pioneers,  and  carry  off 
into  slavery  their  wives  and  daughters, 
avenging  themselves  on  the  emigrants 
for  the  atrocities  to  which  they  have 
been  victims  during  so  many  centuries, 
and  continuing,  to  their  own  profit,  that 
war  of  extermination  which  the  white 
men  inaugurated  on  their  landing  in 
America,  and  which,  since  that  period, 
has  gone  on  uninterruptedly. 

John  Black  belonged  to  that  class  of 
emigrants  we  have  just  described.  One 
day,  about  four  months  previously,  he 
quitted  his  house,  which  was  falling  to 
ruins,  and  loading  the  little  he  possessed  j 
on  a cart,  he  set  out,  followed  by  his 
family,  consisting  of  his  wife,  his  daugh- 
ter, his  son,  and  two  men  servants  who 
had  consented  to  follow  his  fortunes. 
Since  that  period  they  had  not  stopped. 
They  had  marched  boldly  forward,  cut- 
ting their  way  by  the  help  of  their  axes 
through  the  virgin  forests,  and  deter- 
mined on  traversing  the  desert,  until 
they  found  a spot  favorable  for  the 
establishment  of  a new  household. 

At  the  period  when  our  story  takes 
place,  emigration  was  much  rarer  than 
it  is  at  present,  when,  owing  to  the  re- 
cent discovery  of  auriferous  strata  in 
California  and  on  the  Frazer  River,  an 
emigration  fever  has  seized  on  the 
masses  with  such  intensity,  that  the  old 
world  is  growing  more  and  more  de- 
populated, to  the  profit  of  the  new. 
Gold  is  a magnet  whose  strength  at- 
tracts, without  distinction,  young  or  old, 
men  or  women,  by  the  hope,  too  often 


deceived,  of  acquiring  in  a little  tirrm, 
at  the  cost  of  some  slight  fatigue,  a for- 
tune; which,  however,  rarely  compen- 
sates for  the  labor  undergone  in  its 
collection. 

It  was,  therefore,  unusual  boldness  on 
the  part  of  John  Black  thus  to  venture 
without  any  possible  aid  into  a country 
hitherto  utterly  unexplored,  and  of 
which  the  Indians  were  masters.  Mr. 
Black  was  born  in  Virginia:  he  was  a 
man  of  about  fifty,  of  middle  height, 
but  strongly  built,  and  gifted  with  un- 
common vigor;  and,  although  his  fea- 
tures were  very  ordinary,  his  face  had 
a rare  expression  of  firmness  and  reso- 
lution. 

His  wife,  ten  years  younger  than 
himself,  was  a gentle  and  holy  creature, 
on  whose  brow  fatigue  and  alarm  had 
long  before  formed  deep  furrows,  be- 
neath which,  however,  a keen  observer 
could  have  still  detected  traces  of  no 
ordinary  beauty. 

William  Black,  the  emigrant’s  son, 
was  a species  of  giant  of  more  than  six 
feet  in  height,  aged  two-and -twenty,  of 
Herculean  build,  and  whose  jolly,  plump 
face,  surrounded  by  thick  tufts  of  hair 
of  a more  than  sandy  hue,  breathed 
frankness  and  joviality. 

Diana,  his  sister,  formed  a complete 
contrast  with  him.  She  was  a little 
creature,  scarce  sixteen  years  of  age, 
with  eyes  of  a deep  blue  like  the  sky; 
apparently  frail  and  delicate,  with  a 
dreamy  brow  and  laughing  mouth,  which 
belonged  both  to  woman  and  angel ; and 
whose  strange  beauty  seduced  at  the 
first  glance  and  subjugated  at  the 
first  word  that  fell  from  her  rosy  lips. 
Diana  was  the  idol  of  the  family — the 
cherished  idol,  that  every  one  adored, 
and  who,  by  a word  or  a glance,  could 
command  the  obedience  of  the  rude 
natures  that  surrounded  her,  and  who 
only  seemed  to  live  that  they  might 
satisfy  her  slightest  caprices. 

Sam  and  James,  the  two  laborers, 
were  worthy  Kentucky  rustics,  of  extra- 
ordinary strength,  and  who  concealed  a 
great  amount  of  cunning  beneath  their 
simple  and  even  slightly  silly  aspect. 
These  two  young  fellows,  one  of  whom 
was  twenty-six,  the  other  hardly  thbty, 
had  grown  up  in  John  Black’s  house, 


34 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


and  had  vowed  to  him  an  unbounded 
devotion,  of  which  they  had  furnished 
proofs  several  times  since  the  journey 
began. 

When  John  left  his  house  to  go  in 
search  of  a more  fertile  country,  he  pro- 
posed to  these  two  men  to  leave  him, 
not  wishing  to  expose  them  to  the  dan- 
gers of  the  precarious  life  which  was 
about  to  begin  for  himself;  but  both 
shook  their  heads  negatively,  replying 
to  all  that  was  said  to  them,  that  it  was 
their  duty  to  follow  their  master,  no 
matter  whither  he  went,  and  they  were 
ready  to  accompany  him  to  the  end  of 
the  world. 

The  emigrant  had  been  obliged  to 
yield  to  a determination  so  clearly  ex- 
pressed, and  replied,  that  as  matters 
were  so,  they  might  follow  him.  Hence 
these  two  honest  laborers  were  not  re- 
garded as  servants,  but  as  friends,  and 
treated  in  accordance.  In  truth,  there 
is  nothing  like  a common  danger  to 
draw  people  together  ; and  during  the 
last  four  months  John  Black’s  family 
had  been  exposed  to  dangers  innumera- 
ble. 

The  emigrant  took  with  him  a rather 
large  number  of  beasts,  which  caused 
the  caravan,  despite  all  the  precautions 
taken,  to  leave  such  a wide  trail,  as  ren- 
dered an  Indian  attack  possible  at  any 
moment.  Still,  up  to  the  present  time, 
w hen  we  pay  them  a visit,  no  serious 
danger  had  really  menaced  them.  At 
times  they  were  exposed  to  rather 
smart  alarms  ; but  the  Indians  had  al- 
ways kept  at  a respectable  distance,  and 
limited  themselves  to  demonstrations, 
hostile  it  is  true,  but  never  followed  by 
any  results. 

During  the  first  week  of  their  march, 
the  emigrants,  but  little  versed  in  the 
mode  of  life  of  the  redskins,  who  inces- 
eessantly  prowled  round  the  party,  had 
been  afflicted  with  the  most  exaggerated 
tears,  expecting  every  moment  to  be  at- 
tacked by  these  ferocious  enemies,  about 
whom  they  had  heard  stories  which 
might  make  the  bravest  tremble  ; but, 
as  so  frequently  happens,  they  had 
grown  used  to  this  perpetual  threat  of 
the  Indians,  and,  while  taking  the  strict- 
est precautions  for  their  safety,  they  had 
learned  almost  to  deride  the  dangers 


which  they  had  so  much  feared  at  the 
outset,  and  felt  convinced  that  their 
calm  and  resolute  attitude  had  produced 
an  effect  on  the  redskins,  and  that  the 
latter  would  not  venture  to  come  into 
collision  with  them. 

Still,  on  this  day  a vague  restlessness 
had  seized  on  the  party  : they  had  a 
sort  of  secret  foreboding  that  a great 
danger  menaced  them.  The  Indians, 
who,  as  we  have  said,  usually  accompa- 
nied them  out  of  reach  of  gunshot,  had 
all  at  once  become  invisible.  Since 
their  start  from  their  last  camping- 
ground,  they  had  not  seen  a single  one, 
though  they  instinctively  suspected  that, 
if  ihe  Indians  w’ere  invisible,  they  were 
not  the  less  present,  and  possibly  in  lar- 
ger numbers  than  before.  Thus  the  day 
passed,  sorrowfully  and  silently  for  the 
emigrants  : they  marched  side  by  side, 
eye  and  ear  on  the  watch,  with  their  fin- 
gers on  the  trigger,  not  daring  to  impart 
Hieir  mutu.il  fears,  but  (to  use  a Span- 
ish expression ) aaving  their  oeards  >n 
their  shoulders,  like  men  expecting  to 
be  attacked  at  any  moment.  Still,  the 
day  passed  without  the  slightest  incident 
occurring  to  corroborate  their  apprehen- 
sions. 

At  sunset,  the  caravan  was  at  the  foot 
of  one  of  those  numerous  mounds  to 
which  we  have  already  alluded,  and  so 
large  a number  of  which  border  the 
banks  of  the  river  at  this  spot.  John 
Black  made  a sign  to  his  son,  who  drove 
the  cart,  to  stop,  get  down  and  join  him: 
while  the  two  females  looked  around 
them  restlessly,  the  four  men,  assem- 
a few  paces  in  the  rear,  were  engaged 
in  a whispered  conversation. 

“ Boys,”  Mr.  Black  said  to  his  atten- 
tive companions,  “the  day  is  ended,  the 
sun  is  descending  behind  the  mountains 
over  there,  it  is  time  to  think  about  the 
night’s  rest.  Our  beasts  are  fatigued  ; 
we  ourselves  need  to  collect  our  strength 
for  our  morrow’s  labor  ; I think,  though 
open  to  correction,  that  we  should  do 
well  to  profit  by  the  short  time  lei t us.” 

“ Yes,”  James  answered,  “ we  have 
in  front  of  us  a hillock,  on  the  top  of 
which  it  would  be  easy  for  us  to  take  up 
our  quarters.” 

“ And  which,”  William  interrupted 
him,  “ we  could  convert  into  an  almost 
impregnable  fortress  in  a few  hours.” 


* 


D 


TIIE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


35 


“ We  should  have  a har  1 job  in  set- 
ting the  wagon  up  the  hill,”  the  father 
said,  shaking  his  head. 

“Nonsense,”  Sam  objected,  “ not  so 
much  as  you  suppose,  Mister  Black ; a 
little  trouble,  and  we  can  manage  it.” 

“ Flow  so  ?” 

“ Why,”  the  servant  replied,  “ we 
need  only  unload  the  wagon.” 

“ That’s  true ; when  it’s  empty,  it 
will  be  easy  to  get  it  to  the  top  of  the 
hill.” 

“Stay,”  William  observed,  “do  you 
think,  father,  that  it  is  really  necessary 
to  take  all  that  trouble  ? a night  is  soon 
spent,  and  1 fancy  we  should  do  well  to 
remain  where  we  are  : the  position  is 
an  excellent  one  ; it  is  only  a few  paces 
to  the  river  bank  and  we  can  lead  our 
oxen  to  water.” 

“No;  we  must  not  remain  here,  the 
place  is  too  open,  and  we  should  have 
no  shelter  if  the  Indians  attacked  us.” 

“ The  Indians  !”  the  young  man  said, 
with  a laugh  ; “ why,  we  have  not  seen 
a single  one  the  whole  day.” 

“Yes;  what  you  say,  William,  is 
correct,  the  redskins  have  disappeared  ; 
but  shall  I tell  you  my  real  thoughts? 
It  is  really  this  disappearance,  which  I 
do  not  understand,  that  troubles  me.” 

“ Why  so,  father  ?” 

“ Because,  if  they  are  hiding,  they  are 
preparing  some  ambuscade,  a id  do  not 
wish  us  to  know  the  direction  where 
they  are.” 

“ Come,  father,  do  you  really  believe 
that  ?”  the  young  man  remarked  in  a 
lig.A  tone. 

“ I am  convinced  of  it,”  the  emigrant 
said  earnestly. 

The  two  servants  bowed  their  heads 
in  affirmation. 

“ You  will  pardon  me,  father,  if  I do 
not  share  your  opinion,”  the  young  man 
continued.  “ For  my  own  part,  on  the 
other  hand,  I feel  certain  that  these  red 
devils,  who  have  been  following  us  so 
long,  have  eventually  understood  that 
they  could  gain  nothing  from  us  but 
bullets,  and,  like  prudent  men,  have 
given  up  following  us  further.” 

“ No,  no;  you  are  mistaken,  son,  it 
is  not  so.” 

“ Lookye,  father,”  the  young  man 
continued,  with  a certain  amount  of  ex- 


citement, ‘allow  me  to  make  an  obser 
vation  which,  I think,  will  bring  you 
over  to  my  way  of  thinking.” 

“ Do  so,  my  son  ; we  are  here  to  ex- 
change our  opinions  freely,  and  select 
the  best : the  common  interest  is  at 
stake,  and  we  have  to  act  for  the  safety 
of  all  ; under  circumstances  so  grave  as 
the  present,  I should  never  forgive  my- 
self for  neglecting  good  advice,  no  mat- 
ter from  whom  it  came  ; speak,  there- 
fore, without  timidity.” 

“ You  know,  father,”  the  young  man 
went  on,  “ that  the  Indians  understand 
honor  differently  from  ourselves ; that 
is  to  say,  when  the  success  of  an  expe- 
dition is  not  clearly  proved  to  them, 
they  have  no  shame  about  resigning  it, 
because  what  they  seek  in  the  first  place 
is  profit.” 

“ I know  all  that,  my  son  ; but  I do 
not  see  yet  what  you  are  driving  at.” 

“ You  will  soon  understand  me.  For 
nearly  two  months,  from  sunrise,  the 
moment  we  set  out,  to  sunset,  which  is 
generally  the  time  of  our  halt,  the  red- 
skins have  been  following  as,  step  by 
step,  and  we  have  been  unable  to  escape 
for  a single  moment  these  most  trouble- 
some neighbors,  who  have  watched  our 
every  movement.” 

“ That  is  true,”  John  Black  said,  “but 
what  do  you  conclude  from  that  ?” 

“A  very  simple  thing;  that  they 
have  seen  that  we  were  continually  on 
our  guard,  and  that  if  they  attempted  to 
attack  us,  they  would  be  beaten  ; hence 
they  have  retired  ; that  is  all.” 

“ Unfortunately,  William,  you  have 
forgotten  one  thing.” 

“ What  is  it  ?” 

“This:  the  Indians,  generally  not  so 
well  armed  as  the  white  men,  are  afraid 
to  attack  them,  especially  when  they 
suppose  they  shall  have  to  deal  with 
persons  almost  as  numerous  as  them- 
selves, and  in  the  bargain,  sheltered  be- 
hind wagons  and  bales  of  merchandise  ; 
but  that  is  not  at  all  the  case  here  ; since 
they  have  been  watching  us,  the  Indians 
have  had  many  opportunities  of  count- 
ing us,  and  have  done  so  long  ago.” 

“ Yes,”  Sam  said. 

“ Well,  they  know  that  we  are  only 
four;  they  are  at  least  fifty,  if  they  are 
not  more  numerous.  What  can  four 


36 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


men,  in  spite  of  all  their  courage,  effect 
against  such  a considerable  number  of 
enemies?  Nothing.  The  redskins  know 
it,  and  they  will  act  in  accordance  ; that 
is,  when  the  opportunity  offers,  they 
will  not  fajl  to  seize  it.’’ 

“ But — ” the  young  man  objected. 

“ Another  consideration  to  which  you 
have  not  paid  attention,”  John  Black 
quietly  continued,  “ is  that  the  Indians, 
whatever  the  number  of  their  enemies 
may  be,  never  quit  them  without  hav- 
ing attempted  at  least  once  to  surprise 
them.” 

“ In  truth,”  William  answered,  “that 
astonishes  me  on  their  part ; however  1 
am  of  your  opinion,  father ; and  if  the 
precautions  we  propose  taking  only 
serve  to  reassure  my  mother  and  sister, 
it  would  be  well  not  to  neglect  them.” 

“ Well  spoken,  William,”  the  emi- 
grant remarked  ; “ let  us  therefore  set 
to  work  without  delay.” 

The  party  broke  up  ; and  the  four 
men,  throwing  their  rifles  on  their 
shoulders,  began  making  active  prepar- 
ations for  the  encampment.  Sam  col- 
lected the  oxen  by  the  aid  of  the  dogs 
and  led  them  down  to  the  river  to 
drink.  John  in  the  meanwhile,  went 
up  to  the  wagon. 

“ Well,  my  love,”  his  wife  asked 
him,  “ why  this  halt,  and  this  long  dis- 
cussion ? Has  any  accident  occurred  '?” 
“Nothing  that  need  at  all  alarm  you, 
Lucy,”  the  emigrant  answered ; “ we 
are  going  to  camp,  that  is  all.” 

“Oh,  gracious  me!  I do  not  know 
why,  but  I was  afraid  lest  some  misfor- 
tune had  happened.” 

“ On  the  contrary  ; we  are  quieter 
than  we  have  been  for  a long  time.” 

“ How  so,  father  ?”  Diana  asked, 
thrusting  her  charming  face  from  under 
the  canvas  which  concealed  her. 

“Those  rascally  Indians,  who  fright- 
ened us  so  much,  my  darling  Diana, 
have  at  leugth  made  up  their  minds  to 
leave  us  ; we  have  not  seen  a single 
one  during  the  whole  day.” 

“Oh,  all  the  better?”  the  girl  said 
quickly,  as  she  clapped  her  dainty- 
palms  together;  “I  confess  that  I am 
not  brave,  and  those  frightful  red  men 
caused  me  terrible  alarm.” 

“ Well,  you  will  not  see  them  again, 


I hope,”  John  Black  said  gaily  ; though 
while  giving  his  daughter  this  assurance 
to  appease  her  fears,  he  did  not  believe 
a word  he  uttered.  “ Now,”  he  added, 
“ have  the  go  >dness  to  get  down,  so  that 
we  may  unload  the  wagon.” 

“Unload  the  wagon,”  the  old  lady  re- 
marked,  “ why  so  ?” 

“ It  is  just  possible,”  the  husband  an- 
swered, anxious  not  to  reveal  the  real 
reason,  “ that  we  may  remain  here  a 
few  days,  in  order  to  rest  the  cattle.” 

“ Ah,  very  good,”  she  said  ; and  she 
got  out  followed  by  her  daughter. 

The  two  ladies  had  scarce  set  foot  on 
ground,  ere  the  men  began  unloading 
the  wagon.  This  task  lasted  nearly  an 
hour.  Sam  had  time  enough  to  lead 
the  cattle  to  water,  and  collect  them  on 
the  top  of  the  hill. 

“ Are  we  going  to  camp,  then  ?”  Mrs. 
Black  asked. 

“ Yes,”  her  husband  answered. 

“ Come,  Diana,”  the  old  lady  said. 
The  two  women  packed  up  some 
kitchen  utensils,  and  clomb  the  hill, 
where  after  lighting  the  fire,  they  began 
preparing  supper.  So  soon  as  the  cart 
was  unloaded,  the  two  laboring  men, 
aided  by  William,  pushed  it  behind; 
while  John  Black  at  the  head  of  the 
team,  began  flogging  the  horses.  The 
incline  was  rather  steep,  but  owjng  to 
the  vigor  of  the  horses  and  the  impati- 
ence of  the  men,  who  at  each  step  laid 
rollers  behind  the  wheels,  the  wagon  at 
last  reached  the  top.  The  rest  was  as 
nothing,  and  within  an  hour  the  camp 
was  arranged  as  follows: 


The  emigrants  formed,  with  the  bales 
and  trees  they  felled,  a large  circle,  in 
the  midst  of  which  the  cattle  were  tied 
up  ; and  then  put  up  a tent  for  the  two 
women.  When  this  was  effected,  John 
Black  cast  a glance  of  satisfaction 
around.  His  family  were  temporarily 
protected  from  a coup  de  main — thanks 
to  the  manner  in  which  the  bales  and 
trees  were  arranged,  and  the  party  were 
enabled  to  fire  from  under  cover  on  any 
enemy  that  might  attack  them,  and  de- 
fend themselves  a long  time  successful- 
ly. 

The  sun  had  set  for  more  than  an 
hour  before  these  various  preparations 
were  completed,  and  supper  was  ready. 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


37 


The  Americans  seated  themselves  in  a 
circle  round  the  fire,  and  ate  with  the 
appetite  of  men  accustomed  to  danger 
— ail  appetite  which  the  greatest  alarm 
cannot  deprive  them  of.  After  the 
meal,  John  Black  offered  up  a prayer, 
as  he  did  every  evening  before  going  to 
rest;  the  others  standing,  with  uncov- 
ered heads,  listened  attentively  to  the 
prayer;  and  when  it  was  completed, 
the  two  ladies  entered  the  hut  prepared 
for  them. 

“ And  now,”  Black  said,  “ let  us  keep 
a careful  watch  : the  night  is  dark,  the 
moon  rises  late,  and  you  are  aware  that 
the  Indians  choose  the  morning,  the 
moment  when  sleep  is  deepest,  to  at- 
tack their  enemies.” 

The  fire  was  covered,  so  that  its  light 
should  not  reveal  the  exact  position  of 
the  camp;  and  the  two  servants  lay 
down  side  by  side  on  the  grass,  where 
they  soon  fell  asleep  ; while  father  and 
son,  standing  at  either  extremity  of  the 
camp,  watched  over  the  common  safe- 
ty- 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  GRIZZLY  BEAR. 

All  was  calm  in  the  prairie  ; not  a 
sound  disturbed  the  silence  of  the  desert. 
On  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  Indian, 
whatever  the  emotion  Brighteye  might 
feel,  it  was  impossible  for  Natah  Otann 
to  perceive  anything;  the  hunter’s  face 
remained  calm,  and  not  a muscle 
moved. 

“Ah  !”  he  said,  “ the  sachem  of  the 
Piekanns  is  welcome  : does  he  come  as 
a friend  or  an  enemy  ?” 

“ Natah  Otann  comes  to  sit  by  the 
fire  of  the  pale-faces,  and  smoke  the 
calumet  with  them,”  the  chief  replied, 
casting  a searching  glance  around  him. 

“ Good  : if  the  chief  will  wait  a mo- 
ment, I will  light  the  fire.” 

“ Brighteye  can  light  it,  the  chief  will 
wait : he  has  come  to  talk  with  the  pale 
faces,  and  the  conversation  will  be 
long.” 

The  Canadian  looked  fixedly  at  the 
redskin  : but  the  Indian  was  impassive 


like  himse'f,  and  it  was  impossible  to 
read  anything  on  his  features.  The 
hunter  collected  a few  hand  uls  of  dry 
wood,  struck  a light,  and  soon  a bright 
flame  sprung  up,  and  illumined  the 
mount.  The  Indian  drew  near  the  fire, 
took  his  calumet  from  his  girdle,  and 
began  grimly  smoking.  Brighteye,  not 
wishing  to  remain  in  any  way  behind- 
hand, imitated  his  every  movement 
with  perfectly  feigned  indifference,  and 
the  two  men  sat  for  several  moments 
puffing  clouds  of  smoke  at  each  other. 
Natah  Otann  at  length  broke  the  silence. 

“ The  pale  hunter  is  a warrior,”  he 
said,  “ why  does  he  try  to  hide  himself 
like  the  water-rat  ?” 

Brighteye  did  not  consider  it  advis- 
able to  reply  to  this  insinuation,  and  con- 
tinued smoking  philosophically,  while 
casting  a side-glance  at  his  questioner. 

“ The  Blackfeet  have  the  eye  of  the 
eagle,”  Natah  Otann  continued,  “their 
piercing  eyes  see  all  that  happens  on 
the  prairie.” 

The  Canadian  made  a sign  of  assent, 
but  did  not  yet  reply  ; the  chief  con- 
tinued : 

“ Natah  Otann  has  seen  the  trail  of 
his  friends  the  pale  faces,  his  heart 
quivered  with  pleasure  in  his  breast, 
and  he  has  come  to  meet  them.” 

Brighteye  slowly  removed  his  pipe 
from  his  lips,  and  turning  towards  the 
Indian,  examined  him  carefully  for  an 
instant,  and  then  answered  : 

“ I repeat  to  my  brother  that  he  is 
welcome  : I know  that  he  is  a great 
chief,  and  am  happy  to  see  him.” 

“ Wah  !”  the  Indian  said,  with  a cun- 
ning smile  : “ is  my  brother  so  satisfied 
as  he  says  with  my  presence1?” 

“ Why  not,  chief?” 

“ My  brother  is  angry  still  that  the 
Blackfeet  fastened  him  to  the  stake  of 
torture.” 

The  Canadian  shrugged  his  shoulders 
contemptuously,  and  coldly  answered  : 

“ Nonsense,  chief!  why  do  you  fancy 
1 am  angry  with  you  or  your  nation  ? 
war  is  war  ; I have  no  reproaches  to 
make  to  you.  You  wished  to  kill  me, 
I escaped  : so  we  are  quits.” 

“ Good  : does  my  brother  speak  the 
truth?  has  he  really  forgotten?”  the 
chief  asked  with  some  vivacity. 


38 


THE  FLOWER  OF  TIIE  PRAIRIE. 


“ Why  not  ?”  the  Canadian  answered 
cautiously.  “ I have  not  a forked 
tongue,  the  words  my  mouth  utters 
come  from  my  heart.  I have  not  for- 
gotten the  treatment  you  made  me 
undergo,  T should  lie  if  1 said  so  : but  I 
have  forgiven  it.” 

“ Ochi  ! my  brother  is  a greatheart : 
he  is  generous.” 

“ No  : I am  merely  a man  who  knows 
Indian  customs,  that  is  all  : you  did  no 
more  and  no  less  than  all  the  redskins 
do  under  similar  circumstances : 1 can- 
not be  angry  with  you  for  having  acted 
according  to  your  nature.” 

There  was  a silence ; the  two  men 
went  on  smoking.  The  Indian  was  the 
first  to  interrupt  it. 

“ Then,  my  brother  is  a friend  V 7 he 
said. 

“ And  you  1”  the  hunter  asked,  an- 
swering one  question  by  another. 

The  chief  rose  with  a gesture  full  of 
majesty,  and  threw  back  the  folds  of  his 
buffalo  robe. 

“ Would  an  enemy  come  like  this?” 
he  asked,  in  a gentle  voice. 

The  Canadian  could  not  repress  a 
movement  of  surprise  ; the  Blackfoot 
was  unarmed,  his  girdle  was  empty  : he 
had  not  even  his  scalping  knife — that 
weapon  from  which  the  Indians  part  so 
unwillingly.  Brighteye  offered  him  his 
hand. 

“ Shake  hands,  chief,”  he  said  to  him. 
“ You  are  a man  of  heart : now  speak, 
I am  listening  to  you : and,  in  the  first 
place,  will  you  have  a draught  of  fire- 
water ?” 

“ The  fire-water  is  an  evil  counsellor,” 
the  chief  replied,  with  a smile ; “ it 
makes  the  Indians  mad:  Natah  Otann 
does  not  drink  it.” 

“ Come,  come,  I see  that  I was  mis- 
taken with  regard  to  you,  chief ; that 
pleases  me ; speak,  my  ears  are  open.” 

“What  I have  to  say  to  Brighteye 
other  ears  must  not  listen  to.” 

“ My  friends  are  in  a deep  sleep,  you 
can  speak  without  fear  ; and  even  if  they 
were  awake,  as  you  know,  they  do  not 
understand  your  language.” 

The  Indian  shook  his  head. 

“ Glass-eye  knows  everything,”  he 
replied,  “ the  Grizzly  Bear  will  not 
speak  before  him.” 


“As  you  please,  chief:  still,  I would 
remark  that  I have  nothing  to  say  to 
you  : you  can  speak,  therefore,  or  be 
silent  at  your  ease.” 

Natah  Otann  seemed  to  hesitate  for 
an  instant,  and  then  continued  : 

“ Brighteye  will  follow  his  friend  to 
the  river  bank,  and  there  listen  to  the 
words  of  the  Blackfoot  chief.” 

“ Hum!”  the  hunter  said,  “and  who 
will  watch  over  my  companions  during 
my  absence?  No,  no,”  he  added,  “ I 
cannot  do  that,  chief.  The  redskins  have 
the  cunning  of  the  opossum:  while  I 
am  near  the  river,  my  friends  may  be 
surprised.  Who  will  respond  for  their 
safety  ?” 

The  Indian  rose. 

“The  word  of  a chief,”  he  said,  in  a 
proud  voice,  and  with  a gesture  full  of 
majesty 

The  Canadian  looked  at  him  atten- 
tively. Listen,  Redskin,”  he  said  to 
him,  “ I do  not  doubt  your  honor,  so 
do  not  take  in  ill  part  what  1 am  going 
to  say  to  you.” 

“ I listen  to  my  brother,”  the  Indian 
answered. 

“ ! must  watch  over  my  companions. 
Since  you  insist*  on  speaking  to  me  in 
secret,  I consent  to  follow  you,  but  on 
one  condition,  that  I do  not  lay  aside 
my  weapons  : in  that  way,  should  one 
of  those  things  happen,  which  are  too 
common  on  the  prairie,  and  which  no 
human  foresight  can  prevent,  I shall  be 
able  to  face  the  danger  and  sell  my  life 
dearly  : if  what  1 propose  suits  you,  1 
am  ready  to  follow  you,  if  not,  not.” 

“ Good,”  the  Indian  said,  with  a smile, 
“ my  pale  brother  is  right,  a true  hun- 
ter never  quits  his  weapons.  Bright- 
eye may  follow  his  friend.” 

“ Very  well,  then,”  the  Canadian  said, 
resolutely,  as  he  threw  his  rifle  on  his 
shoulder. 

Natah  Otann  began  descending  the 
hill.  While  gliding  noiselessly  through 
the  shrubs  and  thickets,  the  Canadian 
walked  literally  in  his  footsteps,  but 
though  pretending  the  most  perfect  se- 
curity, he  did  not  omit  carefully  exam- 
ing  the  vicinity,  and  lending  an  ear  to 
the  slightest  sound,  but  all  was  calm 
and  silent  in  the  desert,  and  after  some 
ten  minutes’  walk  the  two  men  reached 
the  river  side. 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


39 


The  Mechachebi  rolled  its  waters 
majestically  in  a bed  of  golden  sand, 
while  at  times  a few  vague  shadows  ap- 
peared on  the  bank  : they  were  wild 
beasts  coming  to  drink  in  the  river. 
Two  leagues  from  them,  at  the  top  of 
the  hill,  sparkled  the  last  flames  of  an 
expiring  fire,  which  appeared  at  inter- 
vals between  the  branches.  Natali 
Otann  stopped  at  the  extremity  of  a 
species  of  small  promontory,  the  point 
of  which  advanced  some  distance  into 
the  water.  This  spot  was  entirely  free 
from  vegetation:  the  eye  c >uld  survey 
the  prairie  for  a great  distance,  and  de- 
tect the  slightest  movement  in  the 
desert. 

“ Does  this  place  suit  the  hunter  ?” 
the  chief  asked. 

“ Capitally,”  Brighteye  replied,  rest- 
ing the  butt  of  his  rifle  on  the  ground, 
and  crossing  his  hands  over  the  muzzle  ; 
“ I am  ready  to  hear  the  communication 
my  brother  wishes  to  make  to  me.” 

The  Indian  walked  up  and  down  the 
sand  with  folded  arms  and  drooping 
head,  like  a man  who  is  reflecting 
deeply.  The  hunter  followed  him  with 
his  glance,  waiting  calmly,  till  he 
thought  proper  to  offer  an  explanation. 
It  was  easy  to  see  that  Natah  Otann 
was  ripening  in  his  brain  one  of  those 
bold  projects  such  as  Indians  frequently 
imagine,  but  knew  not  how  to  enter 
upon  it.  The  hunter  resolved  to  put  a 
stop  to  this  state  of  things. 

“ Come,”  he  said,  “ my  brother  has 
made  me  leave  my  camp;  he  invited 
me  to  follow  him ; I consented  to  do 
so : now  that,  according  to  his  desire, 
we  are  free  from  human  ears,  will  he 
not  speak,  so  that  I may  return  to  my 
companions  ?’’ 

The  Indian  stopped  before  him. 

“ My  brother  will  remain,”  he  said  ; 
“ the  hour  is  come  for  an  explanation 
between  us.  My  brother  loves  Glass- 
eye?” 

The  hunter  regarded  his  querist  craft- 

ily. 

“ What  good  of  that  question  ?”  he 
asked  ; “ it  must  be  a matter  of  indiffer- 
ence to  the  chief  whether  I love  or  not 
the  man  he  pleases  to  call  Glass-eye.” 

“ A chief  never  loses  his  time  in  vain 
discourses,”  the  Indian  said,  peremptori 


ly,  “ the  words  his  lips  utter  are  always 
simple,  and  go  straight  to  the  point  : let 
my  brother  then  answer  as  clearly  as  1 
interrogate  him.” 

“ 1 see  no  great  inconvenience  in  doing 
so.  Yes,  I love  Glass-eye;  I love  him 
not  only  because  he  saved  my  life,  but 
because  he  is  one  of  the  most  honorable 
men  1 ever  met.” 

“ Good  ! for  what  purpose  does  Glass- 
eye  traverse  the  prairie?  my  brother 
doubtlessly  knows.” 

“ My  faith,  no ; I confess  to  you, 
chief,  my  ignorance  on  that  head  is  com- 
plete. Still,  I fancy  that,  wearied  with 
the  life  of  cities,  he  has  come  here  with 
no  other  object  than  to  calm  his  soul  by 
the  sublime  aspect  of  nature,  and  the 
grand  melodies  of  the  desert.” 

The  Indian  shook  his  head  ; the  hun- 
ter’s metaphysical  ideas  and  poetic  phra- 
ses wrere  so  much  Hebrew  to  him,  and 
he  did  not  understand  them. 

“ Natah  Otann,”  he  said,  “ is  a chief, 
he  has  not  a forked  tongue  ; the  words 
he  utters  are  as  clear  as  the  blood  in  his 
veins.  Why  does  not  the  hunter  speak 
his  language  to  him  ?” 

o o ^ 

“ I answer  your  questions,  chief,  and 
that  is  all.  Do  you  fancy  that  I would 
go  out  of  my  way  to  interrogate  my 
friend  as  to  his  intentions?  They  do 
not  concern  me ; I have  no  right  to 
seek  in  a man’s  heart  for  the  motive  ot 
his  actions.” 

“ Good  ! my  brother  speaks  well  ; 
his  head  is  grey,  and  his  experience 
long.” 

“That  is  possible,  chief;  at  any  rate 
you  and  1 are  not  on  such  friendly 
terms  that  we  should  exchange  our 
thoughts  without  some  restriction,  1 
fancy  ; you  have  kept  me  here  for  an 
hour  without  saying  anything,  so  it  is 
better  for  us  to  separate/5 

“ Not  yet.” 

“ Why  not?  do  you  imagine  I am 
like  you,  and  that  instead  of  sleeping  o’ 
nights  as  an  honest  Christian  should  do, 
1 amuse  myself  with  rushing  about  the 
prairie  like  a jaguar  in  search  of  prey  ?” 

The  Indian  began  laughing. 

“ Wah  !”  he  said,  “ My  brother  is 
very  clever  ; nothing  escapes  him.” 

“ By  Jingo  ! there  is  no  great  clever- 
ness in  guessing  what  you  are  doing 
here.” 


40 


THE  FLOWER  OF  TIIE  PRAIRIE. 


“ Good  ! then  let  my  brother  listen.” 
“ I will  do  so,  but  on  the  condition 
that  you  lay  aside  once  for  all  those  In- 
dian circumlocutions  in  which  you  so 
adroitly  conceal  your  real  thoughts.” 

“ My  brother  will  open  his  ears,  the 
words  of  his  friend  will  reach  his  heart.” 
“Come,  make  an  end  of  it.” 

“ As  my  brother  loves  Glass-eye,  he 
will  tell  him  from  Natah  Otann  that  a 
great  danger  threatens  him.” 

“ Ah  !”  the  Canadian  said,  casting  a 
suspicious  glance  at  the  other,  “ and 
what  may  the  danger  be?” 

“ I cannot  explain  further.” 

“ Very  good,”  Brighteye  remarked, 
with  a grin,  “ the  information  is  valua- 
ble, though  not  very  explicit;  and  pray 
what  must  we  do  to  escape  the  great 
danger  that  menaces  us  ?” 

“ My  brother  will  wake  his  friend, 
they  will  mount  their  horses  and  retire 
at  full  speed,  not  stopping  till  they  have 
crossed  the  river.” 

“ Hum  ! and  when  we  have  done 
that,  we  shall  have  nought  more  to 
fear  ?” 

“ Nothing.” 

“ Only  think  of  that,”  the  hunter  said, 
ironically,  “and  when  ought  wre  to 
start  ? ’ 

“ At  once.” 

“ Better  still.” 

Brighteye  walked  a few  paces  thought- 
fully ; then  he  returned,  and  stood  be- 
fore the  chief,  whose  eyes  sparkled  in 
the  gloom  like  those  of  a tiger-cat,  and 
who  followed  his  every  movement. 

“ Then,”  he  said,  “ you  cannot  reveal 
to  me  the  reason  that  forces  us  to 
depart  ?” 

“ No  !” 

“ It  is  equally  impossible,  I suppose, 
for  you  to  tell  me  of  the  nature  of  the 
danger  that  menaces  us  he  went  on. 
“ Yes.” 

“ Is  that  your  last  wrord  ?” 

The  Indian  bowed  his  head  in  affirma- 
tion. 

“Very  good,  as  it  is  so,”  Brighteye 
said,  all  at  once,  striking  the  ground 
with  the  butt  of  his  rifle,  “I  will  tell  it 
you.” 

“ You  ?” 

“Yes,  listen  to  me  carefully;  it  will 
not  be  long,  and  will  interest  you,  1 
hope.” 


The  chief  smiled  ironically. 

“ My  ears  are  open,”  he  said. 

“ All  the  better,  for  1 shall  fill  them 
with  news  which,  perhaps,  will  not 
please  you.” 

“ I listen,”  the  impassive  Indian  re- 
peated. 

“ As  you  said  to  me  a moment  back 
— and  the  confidence  on  your  part  was 
useless,  for  1 have  known  you  so  long 
on  the  prairie — the  redskins  have  the 
eyes  of  an  eagle,  and  they  are  birds  of 
prey  whom  nothing  escapes.” 

“ Go  on.” 

“ Here  I am  ; your  scouts  have  dis- 
covered, as  was  not  difficult,  the  trail 
of  an  emigrant  family  ; that  trail  you 
have  been  following  a long  time  so  as 
not  to  miss  your  blow ; supposing  that 
the  moment  had  arrived  to  deal  it,  you 
have  assembled  Comanches,  Sioux,  and 
Blackfeet,  all  demons  of  the  same  breed, 
in  order  this  very  night  to  attack  people 
whom  you  have  been  watching  for  so 
many  days,  and  whose  riches  you  covet, 
because  you  suppose  them  so  great — 
eh  ?” 

Natah  Otann’s  face  revealed  no  emo- 
tion. He  remained  calm,  although  in- 
ternally restless  and  furious  at  having 
his  thoughts  so  well  guessed. 

“ There  is  truth  in  what  the  hunter 
satys,”  he  replied,  coldly. 

“ It  is  all  true,”  Brighteye  exclaimed. 

“ Perhaps  ; but  I do  not  see  in  it  for 
what  reason  I should  have  come  here  to 
warn  my  pale  face  brother.” 

“ Ah,  you  do  not  see  that ; very  wrell. 

I will  explain  it  to  you.  You  came  to 
seek  me,  because  you  are  perfectly  well 
aware  that  Glass-eye,  as  you  call  him, 
is  not  the  man  to  allow  the  crime  you 
meditate  to  be  committed  in  his  pre 
sence.” 

The  Blackfoot  shrugged  his  shoulder0. 

“ Can  a warrior,  however  brave  he  may 
be,  hold  his  ground  against  four  hun- 
dred ?”  he  said.  % 

“ Certainly  not,”  Brighteye  wTent  on  ; 

“ but  he  can  control  them  by  his  pre- 
sence, and  employ  his  ascendancy  over 
them  to  compel  them  to  give  up  their 
prospects;  and  that  is  what  Glass-eye 
will  undoubtedly  do,  for  reasons  of 
which  1 am  ignorant,  for  all  of  you  have 
for  him  an  incomprehensible  respect 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


41 


and  veneration,  and  as  you  fear  lest  you 
may  see  him  come  among  you  at  the 
first  shot  fired,  terrible  as  the  destroy- 
ing angel,  you  seek  to  remove  him  by 
a pretext,  plausible  with  any  one  else, 
but  which  will  produce  on  him  no  other 
effect  than  making  him  engage  in  the 
affair.  Come,  is  that  really  all  ? have 
I completely  uumasked  you  ? Reply.” 
“ My  brother  knows  all,  1 repeat ; his 
wisdom  is  great.” 

“ Now,  I presume,  you  have  nothing 
to  add?  Very  well,  good-night.” 

“ A moment.” 

“ What  more  ?” 

“ You  must.” 

“ Very  well ; but  make  haste.” 

“ My  brother  has  spoken  in  his  own 
cause,  but  not  in  that  of  Glass-eye ; let 
him  wake  his  friend,  and  impart  our 
conversation  to  him ; mayhap  he  is 
mistaken.” 

“ I do  not  believe  it,  chief,”  the 
hunter  answered,  with  a shake  of  his 
head. 

“ That  is  possible,”  the  Indian  per- 
sisted ; “ but  let  my  brother  do  as  I 
have  asked  him.” 

“ You  lay  great  stress  on  it,  chief!” 

“ Great.” 

“ I do  not  wish  to  vex  you  about 
such  a trifle.  Well ! you  will  soon  al- 
low that  1 was  right.” 

“Possibly;  I will  await  my  brother’s 
reply  for  half  an  hour.” 

“Very  good  ; but  where  shall  I bring 
it  to  you  ?” 

“ Nowhere  !”  the  Indian  exclaimed, 
sharply.  “ If  I am  right,  my  brother 
will  imitate  the  cry  of  the  magpie  twice  ; 
if  I am  mistaken,  it  will  be  that  of  the 
owl.” 

“ Very  good,  that’s  agreed ; you  shall 
soon  hear,  chief.” 

The  Indian  bowed  gracefully. 

“May  the  Wacondah  be  with  my 
brother  !”  he  said. 

After  this  courteous  salutation,  the 
two  men  parted.  The  Canadian  care- 
lessly threw  his  rifle  on  his  shoulder, 
and  stalked  back  to  his  camp,  while  the 
Indian  followed  him  with  his  glance,  ap- 
parently remaining  insensible ; but  as 
soon  as  the  hunter  had  disappeared,  the 
chief  lay  down  in  the  sand,  glided  along 
in  the  shade  like  a serpent,  and  in  his 


turn  disappeared  amid  the  bushes,  fol 
lowing  the  direction  taken  by  Bright- 
eye,  though  at  a considerable  distance. 

The  latter  did  not  fancy  himself  fol- 
lowed ; he  therefore  paid  no  attention 
to  what  went  on  around  him,  and  re- 
gained his  camp  without  noticing  any- 
thing of  an  extraordinary  nature.  Had 
not  the  Canadian  been  preoccupied,  and 
his  old  experience  lulled  to  sleep  for  the 
moment,  he  would  have  certainly  per- 
ceived, with  that  penetration  which  dis- 
tinguished him,  that  the  desert  was  not 
in  its  usual  state  of  tranquillity  : he 
would  have  felt  unusual  tremors  in  the 
leaves,  and  possibly  have  seen  eyes 
flashing  in  the  shade  of  the  tall  grass. 
He  soon  reached  the  camp  where  the 
Count  and  Ivon  were  sleeping  pro- 
foundly. Brighteye  hesitated  a few 
seconds  ere  awakening  the  young  man 
whose  sleep  was  peaceful ; still,  reflect- 
ing that  the  least  imprudence  might  en- 
tail terrible  consequences,  whose  result 
it  was  impossible  to  calculate,  he  bent 
over  him,  and  gently  touched  his  shoul- 
der. Though  the  touch  was  so  slight, 
it  sufficed  to  wake  the  Count ; he  opened 
his  eyes,  sat  up,  and  looking  at  the  old 
hunter — 

“ Is  there  anything  fresh,  Brighteye?” 
he  asked. 

“Yes,  Sir  Count;”  the  Canadian  re- 
plied, seriously. 

“ Oh,  oh,  how  gloomy  you  are,  my 
good  fellow,”  the  young  man  said,  with 
a laugh.  “What’s  the  matter  then?” 
“Nothing,  yet;  but  we  may  soon 
have  a row  with  the  Redskins.” 

“All  the  better,  for  that  will  warm 
us,  as  it  is  horribly  cold,”  he  replied, 
shivering.  “But  how  do  you  know  the 
fact  ?” 

“ During  your  sleep  1 received  a vis- 
itor.” 

“Ah?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And  who  was  the  person  who  se- 
lected such  an  important  moment  to 
pay  you  a visit  ?” 

“ The  sachem  of  the  Blackfeet.” 
“Natah  Otann?” 

“ Himself.” 

“ Upon  my  word,  he  must  be  a som- 
nambulist, to  amuse  himself  by  walking 
about  the  desert  at  night.” 


42 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


“ He  does  not  walk,  he  watches.” 
“Oh,  I am  in  a bother;  so  keep  me 
no  longer  in  suspense;  tell  me  what 
passed  between  you.  Natah  Otann  is 
not  the  man  to  put  himself  out  of  the 
way  without  strong  reasons,  and  I am 
burning  to  know  them.” 

“ You  shall  judge.” 

Without  any  further  preface,  the  hun- 
ter described  in  its  fullest  details  the 
conversation  he  had  with  the  chief. 

“ By  Jove  ! that’s  serious,”  the  Count 
said,  when  Brighteve  had  ended  his 
story.  “ This  Natah  Otann  is  a gloomy 
scoundrel,  whose  plans  you  fully  pene- 
trated, and  you  behaved  splendidly  in 
answering  him  so  categorically.  For 
what  has  this  villain  taken  me?  Does 
he  fancy,  1 wonder,  that  I shall  act  as 
his  accomplice  ? Let  him  dare  to 
attack  those  poor  devils  of  emigrants 
down  there,  and  by  the  saints.  I swear 
to  you,  Brighteye,  that  blood  will  be 
shed  between  us,  if  you  help  me.” 

“ Can  you  doubt  it  ?” 

“No,  my  friend,  I thank  you;  with 
you  and  my  coward  of  an  Ivon,  1 shall 
manage  to  put  them  to  flight.” 

“ Is  my  lord  calling  me  ?”  the  Breton 
asked,  raising  his  head. 

“ No,  no,  Ivon,  my  good  fellow  ; I 
only  say  that  we  shall  soon  have  some 
fighting.” 

The  Breton  emitted  a sigh,  and  mut- 
tered, as  he  lay  down  again, — 

“ Ah  ! if  I had  as  much  courage  as  I 
possess  goodwill ; but  alas ! as  you 
know,  I am  a wonderful  coward,  and  1 
shall  prove  more  harm  to  you  than 
good.” 

“You  will  do  all  you  can,  my  friend, 
and  that  will  be  sufficient.” 

Ivon  sighed  in  reply.  Brighteye  had 
listened  laughingly  to  this  colloquy. 
The  Breton  still  possessed  the  privilege 
of  astonishing  him,  for  he  did  not  at  all 
comprehend  his  singular  organization. 
The  Count  turned  towards  him. 

“ So  it  is  settled  1”  he  said. 

“ Settled,”  the  hunter  answered. 

“ Then  give  the  signal,  my  friend.” 

“ The  owl,  I suppose  ?” 

“ By  Jove  !”  the  Count  said. 
Brighteye  raised  his  finger  to  his 
mouth,  and,  as  had  been  agreed  with 
Natah  Otann,  imitated  twice  the  cry  of 


the  owl,  with  rare  perfection.  Hardly 
had  the' echo  of  the  last  cry  died  away, 
than  a great  rumor  was  heard  in  the 
bushes,  and  before  the  three  men  had 
time  to  put  themselves  in  a posture  of 
defence,  some  twenty  Indians  rushed 
upon  them,  disarmed  them  in  a twink- 
ling, and  reduced  them  to  a state  of  ut- 
ter defencelessness.  The  Count  shrugg- 
ed his  shoulders,  leant  against  a tree, 
and  thrusting  his  glass  in  his  eye,  said  : 
“ This  is  very  funny.” 

“ Well,  I can’t  see  the  point  of  the 
joke,”  muttered  Ivon,  in  a grand  aside. 

Among  the  Indians,  whom  it  was 
easy  to  recogn;ze  as  Blackfeet,  was  Na- 
tah Otann.  After  removing  the  wea- 
pons of  the  white  men,  so  that  they 
could  not  attempt  a surprise  this  time, 
he  walked  towards  the  hunter. 

“ I warned  Brighteye,”  he  said. 

The  hunter  smiled  contemptuously. 

“ You  warned  us  after  the  fashion  of 
redskins,”  he  replied. 

“ What  does  my  brother  mean  ?” 

“ I mean  that  you  warned  us  of  a 
danger  that  threatened  us,  and  not  that 
you  intended  treachery.” 

“It  is  the  same  thing,  it  is  the  same 
thing,”  the  Indian  replied,  with  utter 
calmness. 

“ Brighteye,  my  friend,  do  not  argue 
with  those  scoundrels,”  the  Count  said. 
And  turning  haughtily  to  the  chief: 

“ Come  ! what  do  you  want  of  us  V 
he  asked. 

Since  his  arrival  on  the  prairie,  and 
through  his  constant  contact  with  the 
Indians  the  Count  had  almost  unconsci- 
ously learned  their  language,  which  he 
spoke  rather  fluently. 

“ We  do  not  wish  to  do  you  any 
hurt;  we  only  intend  to  prevent  your 
interference  in  our  affairs,”  Natah 
Otann  said,  respectfully  ; “ we  should 
be  very  sorry  to  have  recourse  to  vio- 
lent measures.” 

The  young  man  burst  into  a laugh. 

“ You  are  humbugs  ! I can  manage 
to  escape  in  spite  of  you.” 

“ L'*t  my  brother  try  it.” 

“ When  the  moment  arrives  ; as  for 
the  present,  it  is  not  worth  the  trou- 
ble !” 

While  speaking  in  this  light  tone,  the 
young- man  took  his  case  from  his  pock- 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


43 


et,  chase  a cigar,  and,  pulling  out  a lu- 
cifer  match,  stooped  down  and  rubbed 
it  on  a stone.  The  Indians,  considera- 
bly puzzled  by  his  movements,  followed 
them  anxiously;  but  suddenly  they  ut- 
tered a yell  of  terror,  and  fell  back  sev- 
eral paces.  The  match  had  caught  fire 
with  the  friction ; a delicious  blue  flame 
sported  about  its  extremity.  The 
Count  carelessly  twisted  the  slight  mor- 
sel of  wood  between  his  fingers,  while 
waiting  till  all  the  sulphur  was  con- 
sumed. He  did  not  notice  the  terror 
of  the  Indians. 

The  latter,  with  a movement  as  swift 
as  thought,  stooped  down,  and  each 
picking  up  the  first  piece  of  wood  he 
found  at  his  feet,  all  began  rubbing  it 
against  the  stones.  The  Count  in 
amazement  looked  at  them,  not  yet  un- 
derstanding what  they  were  about. — 
Natah  Otann  seemed  to  hesitate  for  a 
moment ; a smile  of  strange  meaning 
played,  rapidly  as  lightning,  over  his 
gloomy  features;  but  reassuming  al- 
most immediately  his  cold  impassive- 
ness, he  took  a step  forward,  and  re- 
spectfully bowing  before  the  Count, — 

“ My  father  commands  the  fire  of  the 
sun,”  he  said  with  all  the  appearance  of 
a mysterious  terror,  while  pointing  to 
the  match. 

The  young  man  smiled;  he  had 
guessed  the  secret. 

“ Which  of  you,”  he  said,  haughtily, 
“would  dare  to  contend  with  me?” 

The  Indians  regarded  each  other  with 
amazement.  These  men  so  intrepid 
and  accustomed  to  brave  the  greatest 
dangers,  were  vanquished  by  the  in- 
comprehensible power  their  prisoner 
possessed.  As,  while  talking  to  the 
chief,  the  Count  had  not  watched  his 
match,  it  had  gone  out  before  he  could 
use  it,  and  he  threw  it  away.  The  In- 
dians rushed  upon  it,  to  assure  them- 
selves that  the  flame  was  real.  With- 
out appearing  to  attach  any  importance 
to  this  action,  the  Count  drew  a second 
3 


match  from  his  box,  and  renewed  his 
experiment.  His  triumph  was  com- 
plete ; the  redskins,  in  their  terror,  fell 
at  his  feet,  imploring  him  to  pardon 
them.  Henceforth  he  might  dare  any- 
thing. These  primitive  men  terrified 
by  the  two  miracles  he  had  performed, 
regarded  him  as  a superior  being  to 
themselves,  and  were  completely  mas- 
tered by  him.  While  Brighteye  laugh- 
ed in  his  sleeve  at  the  Indians’  simpli- 
city, the  young  man  cleverly  employed 
his  triumph. 

“You  see  what  I can  do,”  he  said. 

“We  see  it,”  Natah  Otann  made  an- 
swer. 

“ When  do  you  intend  to  attack  the 
emigrants  ?” 

“ When  the  moon  has  set,  the  war- 
riors of  the  tribe  will  assault  their 
camp.” 

“ And  you  ?” 

“ Will  guard  our  brother.” 

“ So  you  now  fancy  that  is  possible,” 
the  Count  said,  haughtily. 

The  redskins  shuddered  at  the  flash  of 
his  glance. 

“ Our  brother  will  pardon  us,”  the 
chief  replied,  submissively ; “ we  only 
knew  him  imperfectly.” 

“ And  now  ?” 

“ Now  we  know  that  he  is  our  mas- 
ter, let  him  command,  and  we  will 
obey.” 

“ Take  care !”  he  said,  in  a tone 
which  made  them  shudder  ; “ for  I am 
about  to  put  your  obedience  to  a rude 
trial.” 

“ Our  ears  are  open  to  receive  our 
brother’s  words.” 

“ Draw  nearer.” 

The  Blackfeet  took  a few  hesitating 
steps  in  advance,  for  they  were  not  yet 
completely  reassured. 

“And  now  listen  to  me  attentively,” 
he  said,  “ and  when  you  have  received 
my  orders,  take  care  to  execute  them 
thoroughly.” 


44 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  STRANGE  WOMAN. 

We  are  now  obliged  to  return  to  the 
Americans’  camp.  As  we  have  said, 
Black  and  his  son  were  mounting  guard, 
and  the  pioneer  was  far  from  easy  in 
his  mind.  Although  not  yet  possessed 
of  all  the  experience  required  for  a de- 
sert life,  the  four  months  he  had  spent 
in  fatiguing  marches  and  continued 
alarms  had  endowed  him  with  a certain 
degree  of  vigilance,  which,  under  exist- 
ing circumstances,  might  prove  very 
useful ; not,  perhaps,  to  prevent  an  at- 
tack, but,  at  least,  to  repulse  it.  The 
situation  of  his  camp  was,  besides,  ex- 
cellent ; for  from  it  he  surveyed  the 
prairie  for  a great  distance,  and  could 
easily  perceive  the  approach  of  an  ene- 
my. 

Father  and  son  were  seated  by  the 
fire,  rising  from  time  to  time,  in  turn, 
to  cast  glances  over  the  desert,  and  as- 
sure themselves  that  nothing  menaced 
their  tranquility.  Black  was  a man 
gifted  with  an  iron  will  and  a lion’s 
courage  ; hitherto  his  schemes  had  been 
unsuccessful,  and  he  had  sworn  to  make 
himself  an  honorable  position,  no  mat- 
ter at  what  cost. 

He  was  the  descendant  of  an  old 
family  of  squatters.  The  squatter  be- 
ing an  individuality  peculiar  to  Ameri- 
ca, and  vainly  sought  elsewhere,  we  will 
describe  him  as  he  is,  in  a few  words. 
On  the  lands  belonging  to  the  United 
States,  not  yet  cleared  or  put  up  for 
sale,  large  numbers  of  persons  have  set- 
tled, with  the  desire  of  eventually  pur- 
chasing their  lots.  These  inhabitants 
are  called  squatters.  We  will  not  say 
that  they  are  the  pick  of  the  western 
emigrants,  but  we  know  that,  in  certain 
districts,  they  have  constituted  them- 
selves a regular  Government,  and  have 
elected  magistrates  to  watch  over  the 
execution  of  the  Draconian  laws  they 
have  themselves  laid  down  to  insure  the 
tranquility  of  the  territories  they  have 
invaded.  But  by  the  side  of  these 
quasi-honest  squatters,  who  bow  their 
necks  beneath  a yoke  that  is  often 
harsh,  there  is  another  class  of  squatters 
who  understand  the  possession  of  land 


in  its  widest  sense  ; that  is  to  say, 
whenever  they  discover,  in  their  vaga- 
bond peregrinations,  a tract  of  land  that 
suits  them,  they  install  themselves  there 
without  any  further  inquiry,  and  car- 
ing nothing  for  the  rightful  owner,  who, 
when  he  arrives  with  his  laborers  to  till 
his  estate,  is  quite  annoyed  to  find  it  is 
in  the  hands  of  an  individual,  who,  trust- 
ing to  the  axiom  that  possession  is  nine 
points  of  the  law,  refuses  to  give  it  up, 
and  if  he  insist,  drives  him  away  by 
means  of  his  rifle  and  revolver. 

We  know  a capital  story  of  a gentle- 
man, who,  starting  from  New  York 
with  two  hundred  laborers,  to  clear  a 
virgin  forest  he  had  purchased  some  ten 
years  previously,  and  never  turned  to 
any  use,  found  on  arriving  at  his  claim, 
a town  of  four  thousand  souls  built  on 
the  site  of  his  virgin  forest,  of  which 
not  a tree  remained.  After  numberless 
discussions,  the  said  gantleman  esteem- 
ed himself  very  fortunate  in  being  able 
to  depart  with  a whole  skin,  and  with 
out  paying  damages  to  his  despoilers, 
whom  he  had  momentarily  hoped  to 
oust.  But  there  is  no  more  chance  of 
ousting  a squatter,  than  you  can  get  a 
dollar  out  of  a Yankee,  when  he  has 
once  pocketed  it. 

John  Black  belonged  to  the  former 
of  the  two  classes  we  have  described. 
When  he  reached  the  age  of  twenty, 
his  father  gave  him  an  axe,  a rifle,  with 
twenty  charges  of  powder,  and  a bowie 
knife,  saying  to  him — • 

“ Listen,  boy.  You  are  now  tall  and 
strong  ; it  would  be  a shame  for  you  to 
remain  longer  a burthen  on  me.  1 have 
your  two  brothers  to  support.  Ameri- 
ca is  large;  there  is  no  want  of  land. 
Go  in  God’s  name,  and  never  let  me 
hear  of  you  again.  With  the  weapons 
[ give  you,  and  the  education  you  have 
received,  your  fortune  will  soon  be 
made,  if  you  like:  before  all,  avoid  all 
disagreeable  disputes,  and  try  not  to  be 
hanged.” 

After  this  affectionate  address,  the 
father  tenderly  embraced  his  son,  put 
him  out  of  the  cabin,  and  slammed  the 
door  in  his  face.  From  that  moment 
John  Black  had  never  heard  of  his  fath- 
er— it  is  true  that  he  never  tried  to  ob- 
tain any  news  about  him. 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


45 


Life  had  been  rough  to  him  at  the 
outset;  but  owing  to  his  character,  and 
a certain  elasticity  of  principle,  the  sole 
inheritance  his  family  had  given  him,  he 
had  contrived  to  gain  a livelihood,  and 
bring  up  his  children  without  any  great 
privations.  Either  through  the  isola- 
tion in  which  he  had  passed  his  youth, 
or  for  some  other  reason  we  are  igno- 
rant of,  Black  adored  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren, and  would  not  have  parted  from 
them  on  any  account.  When  fatality 
compelled  him  to  give  up  the  farm  he 
occupied,  and  look  for  another,  he  set 
out  gaily,  sustained  by  the  love  of  his 
family,  no  member  of  which  was  un- 
grateful for  the  sacrifices  he  imposed  on 
himself;  and  he  had  resolved  to  go  this 
time  so  far,  that  no  one  would  ever 
come  to  dispossess  him,  for  he  had  been 
obliged  to  surrender  his  farm  to  its 
legitimate  proprietor,  which  he  had 
done  on  the  mere  exhibition  of  the  title- 
deeds,  without  dreaming  of  resistance — 
conduct  which  had  been  greatly  blamed 
by  all  his  neighbors. 

Black  wished  to  see  his  family  happy, 
and  watched  over  it  with  the  jealous 
tenderness  of  a hen  for  its  chicks. 
Thus,  on  this  evening,  an  extreme  alarm 
had  preyed  on  him,  though  he  could 
not  explain  the  cause  : the  disappear- 
ance of  the  Indians  did  not  seem  to  him 
natural ; everything  around  was  too 
calm,  the  silence  of  the  desert  too  pro- 
found : he  could  not  remain  at  any  one 
spot,  and,  in  spite  of  his  son’s  remarks, 
rose  every  moment  to  take  a look  over 
the  entrenchments. 

William  felt  for  his  father  a great 
affection,  mingled  with  respect : the 
state  in  which  he  saw  him  vexed  him 
the  more,  because  there  was  nothing  to 
account  for  his  extraordinary  restless- 
ness. 

“ Good  gracious,  father !”  he  said, 
“ do  not  trouble  yourself  so  much  ; it 
really  causes  me  pain  to  see  you  in 
such  a state.  Do  you  suppose  that  the 
Indians  would  have  attacked  us  by  such 
a moonlight  as  this  ? Look,  objects  can 
be  distinguished  as  in  broad  day  ; I am 
certain  you  might  even  read  the  Bible 
by  the  silvery  rays.” 

“ You  are  right  for  the  present  mo- 
ment, Will.  The  Redskins  are  too  I 


crafty  to  face  our  rifles  during  the  moon- 
shine; but  in  an  hour  the  moon  will 
have  set,  and  the  darkness  will  then 
protect  them  sufficiently  to  allow  them 
to  reach  the  foot  of  tiie  barricade  un- 
noticed.” 

“ Do  not  imagine  they  will  attempt 
it,  my  dear  lather ! those  red  devils 
have  seen  us  sufficiently  close  to  know 
that  they  can  only  expect  a volley  of 
bullets  from  us.” 

“ Ilum.  I am  not  of  your  opinion  ; 
our  beasts  would  be  riches  to  them  : 1 
do  not  wish  to  abandon  them,  as  we 
should  then  be  compelled  to  return  to 
the  plantations  to  procure  others,  which 
would  be  most  disagreeable,  you  will 
allow.” 

“It  is  true;  but  we  shall  not  be  re- 
duced to  that  extremity.” 

“ May  Heaven  grunt  it,  my  boy ; 
but  do  you  hear  nothing?” 

The  young  mall  listened  attentively. 

“No,”  he  said,  at  the  end  of  a mo- 
ment. 

The  emigrant  proceeded  with  a sigh  : 
“ I visited  the  river  bank  this  morning, 
and  I have  rarely  seen  a spot  better 
suited  for  a settlement.  The  virgin 
forest  that  extends  behind  us  would 
supply  excellent  firewood,  without  reck- 
oning the  magnificent  plarvks  to  be 
obtained  from  it : there  are  several  hun- 
dred acres  around,  which,  from  their 
proximity  to  the  water,  would  produce, 
1 am  certain,  excellent  crops.” 

“Would  you  feel  inclined  to  settle 
here,  then  ?” 

“ Have  you  any  objection  ?” 

“ 1 — none  at  all  ! provided  that  we 
can  live  and  work  together.  I care  lit- 
tle at  what  place  we  stop  ; this  spot  ap- 
pears to  me  as  good  as  another,  and  it 
is  far  enough  from  the  settlements  to 
prevent  our  being  turned  out,  at  least 
for  a great  number  of  years.” 

“ That  is  exactly  my  view.” 

At  this  moment  a gentle  quivering 
ran  along  the  tall  grass. 

“ This  time  I am  certain  I am  not 
mistaken,”  the  emigrant  exclaimed ; “ 1 
heard  something.” 

“ And  I,  too  !”  the  young  man  said, 
rising  quickly,  and  seizing  his  rifle. 

The  tuvo  men  hurried  to  the  entrench- 
ments, but  they  saw  nothing  of  a suspi- 


46 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


cious  nature  : the  prairie  was  still  per- 
fectly calm. 

“ ’Tis  some  wild  beast  going  down 
to  drink,  or  returning,”  Will  said,  to  re- 
assure his  father. 

“ No,  no,”  the  latter  replied,  with  a 
shake  of  the  head  ; “ it  is  not  the  noise 
made  by  any  animal— it  was  the  echo 
of  a man’s  footfall,  I am  convinced.” 

“ The  simplest  way  is  to  go  and  see.” 

“ Come,  then.” 

The  two  men  resolutely  climbed  over 
the  entrenchments,  and  with  rifles  out- 
stretched, went  round  the  camp,  care- 
fully searching  the  bushes,  and  assuring 
themselves  that  no  foe  lurked  in  them. 

“ Well?”  they  each  exclaimed,  when 
they  met. 

“ Nothing — and  you  ?” 

“ Nothing.” 

“ It  is  strange,”  John  Black  mutter- 
ed, “ and  yet  the  noise  was  very  dis- 
tinct.” 

“ That  is  true  ; but  I repeat,  father, 
that  it  was  nothing  but  an  animal  leap- 
ing somewhere  near.  In  a night  so 
calm  as  this,  the  slightest  sound  is  heard 
for  a great  distance  ; besides,  we  are 
now  certain  that  no  one  is  concealed 
near  us.” 

“ Let  us  go  back,”  the  emigrant  said, 
thoughtfully. 

They  began  climbing  over  the  en- 
trenchments ; but  both  stopped  sudden- 
ly, by  mutual  agreement,  hardly  check- 
ing a cry  of  amazement,  almost  of 
terror.  They  had  just  perceived  a hu- 
man being,  whose  outline  it  was  impos- 
sible to  trace  at  such  a distance,  crouch- 
ed over  the  fire. 

‘‘This  time  I will  have  it  out,”  the 
emigrant  exclaimed,  taking  a prodigious 
bound  into  the  camp. 

“ And  I,  too,”  his  son  murmured,  as 
he  followed  his  example. 

But  when  they  came  opposite  their 
strange  visitor,  their  surprise  was  re- 
doubled. In  spite  of  themselves,  they 
stopped  to  gaze  on  the  stranger,  without 
thinking  to  ask  how  she  had  entered 
their  camp,  and  by  what  right  she  had 
done  so. 

As  far  as  they  could  form  a judge- 
ment, they  soon  began  to  consider  the 
extraordinary  being  before  them — a wo- 
man ; but  years,  the  mode  of  life  she 


led,  and  perchance  cares,  had  furrowed 
her  face  with  such  a multitude  of  cross 
hatchings,  that  it  was  impossible  to  con- 
jecture her  age,  or  whether  she  had 
formerly  been  lovely.  The  large  black 
eyes,  surmounted  by  thick  brows  cross- 
ing her  curved  nose,  and  deep  sunk, 
flashed  with  a gloomy  fire  ; her  salient 
and  empurpled  cheek  bones,  her  large 
mouth  studded  with  dazzling  teeth,  and 
her  thin  lips  and  square  chin,  gave  her 
at  first  an  appearance  which  was  far 
from  arousing  sympathy  and  exciting 
confidence  ; while  her  long  black  hair, 
matted  with  leaves  and  grass,  fell  in 
disorder  on  her  shoulders. 

She  wore  a costume  more  suited  for 
a man  than  a woman.  It  was  composed 
of  a long  robe  of  buffalo  hide,  with  short 
sleeves,  fastened  on  the  hips  by  a girdle 
bedizened  with  beads.  This  robe  had 
the  skirt  fringed  v/ith  feathers,  and  only 
came  down  to  the  knee.  Her  mitasses 
were  fastened  round  the  ancles,  and 
reached  slightly  above  the  knee,  where 
they  were  held  up  by  garters  of  buflalo 
hide.  Her  humpis , or  slippers,  were 
plain  and  unornamented.  She  wore 
iron  rings  on  her  wrist,  two  or  three 
bead  collars  round  her  neck,  and  ear- 
rings. From  her  girdle  hung  on  one 
side  a powder-flask,  an  axe,  and  a bowie- 
knife  ; on  the  other,  a bullet-pouch,  and 
a long  Indian  pipe.  Across  her  knees 
lay  a rather  handsome  gun,  of  English 
manufacture. 

She  was  crouching  over  the  fire, 
which  she  gazed  at  fixedly,  with  her 
chin  on  the  palm  of  her  hand. 

On  the  arrival  of  the  Americans,  she 
did  not  rise,  and  did  not  even  appear  to 
notice  their  presence.  After  examining 
her  attentively  for  some  time,  Black 
walked  up,  and,  tapping  her  on  the 
shoulder,  said  : 

“ You  are  welcome,  woman  ; it  seems 
as  if  you  were  cold,  and  the  fire  does 
not  displease  you.” 

She  slowly  raised  her  head  on  feeling 
the  touch,  and,  fixing  on  her  questioner 
a gloomy  glance,  in  which  it  was  easy 
to  perceive  a slight  wildness,  she  re- 
plied in  English,  in  a hollow  voice  and 
with  guttural  accent : 

“ The  pale  faces  are  mad  ; they  ever 
think  themselves  in  their  towns ; they 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


4 V 


forget  that  in  the  prairie  the  trees  have 
ears  and  the  leaves  eyes  to  see  and  hear 
all  that  is  done.  The  Blackfeet  Indians 
raise  their  hair  very  skilfully .” 

Ttu  two  men  looked  at  each  other  on 
hearing  these  words,  whose  meaning 
they  were  afraid  to  guess,  though  they 
seemed  somewhat  obscure. 

“ Are  you  hungry  ? will  you  eat  ?” 
John  Black  continued,  “ or  is  it  thirst 
that  troubles  you  ? I can,  if  you  like, 
give  you  a good  draught  of  fire-water  to 
warm  you.” 

The  woman  frowned. 

“ Fire-water  is  good  for  Indian 
squaws,”  she  said  ; “ what  good  would 
it  do  me  to  drink  it  ? Others  will  come 
who  will  soon  dispose  of  it.  Do  you 
know  how  many  hours  you  still  have  to 
live  ?” 

The  emigrant  shuddered,  in  spite  of 
himself,  at  this  species  of  menace. 

“ Why  speak  to  me  thus  V’  he  asked, 
“have  you  any  cause  of  complaint 
against  me  V 1 

“ I care  little,”  she  continued.  “ I am 
not  among  the  living,  since  my  heart  is 
dead.” 

She  turned  her  head  in  every  direc- 
tion with  a slow  and  solemn  movement, 
while  carefully  examining  the  country. 

“ Stay,”  she  continued,  pointing  with 
her  lean  arm  to  a mound  of  grass  a 
short  distance  off,  “ ’twas  there  he  fell 
— ’tis  there  he  rests.  His  head  was 
cleft  asunder  by  an  axe  during  his  sleep 
— poor  James  ! This  spot  is  ill-omened : 
do  you  not  know  it?  The  vultures  and 
the  crows  alone  stay  here  at  long  inter- 
vals. Why,  then,  have  you  come  here  1 
Are  you  weary  of  life  ? Do  you  hear 
them  ? They  are  approaching ; they 
will  soon  be  here.” 

Father  and  son  exchanged  a glance. 

“ She  is  mad.  Poor  creature  !”  Black 
muttered. 

“Yes;  that  is  what  they  all  say  on 
the  prairies,”  she  exclaimed,  with  some 
accusation  in  her  voice.  “ They  call 
me  Ohucahauck  ChiJce  (the  evil  one  of 
the  earth),  because  they  fear  me  as 
their  evil  genius.  You,  also,  fancy  me 
mad,  eh  ! ah  ! ah  ! ah  !” 

She  burst  into  a strident  laugh,  which 
ended  in  a sob  ; she  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands,  and  wept.  The  two  men 


felt  awed  in  spite  of  themselves;  this 
strange  grief,  these  incoherent  words, 
all  aroused  their  interest  in  favor  of  this 
poor  creature,  who  appeared  so  unhappy. 
Pity  was  at  work  in  their  hearts,  and 
they  regarded  her  silently  without  dar- 
ing to  disturb  her.  In  a few  moments 
she  raised  her  head,  passed  the  back  of 
her  hand  over  her  eyes  to  dry  them,  and 
spoke  again.  The  wild  expression  had 
disappeared;  the  very  sound  of  her 
voice  was  no  longer  the  same  ; as  if  by 
enchantment,  a complete  change  had 
taken  place  in  her. 

“Pardon,”  she  said,  mournfully,  “the 
extravagant  words  I have  uttered.  The 
solitude  in  which  I live,  and  the  heavy 
burden  of  woe  which  has  crushed  me  so 
long,  at  times  trouble  my  reason;  and 
then  the  place  where  we  now  stand  re- 
minds me  of  terrible  scenes,  whose  cruel 
memory  will  never  be  erased  from  my 
mind.” 

“ Madam,  I assure  you — ,”  John 
Black  continued,  not  knowing  what  he 
said,  so  great  was  his  surprise. 

“ Now  the  fit  has  passed  away.”  She 
interrupted  him  with  a gentle  and 
melancholy  smile,  which  gave  her  coun- 
tenance a very  different  expression  from 
that  the  Americans  had  hitherto  re- 
marked. “ I have  been  following  you 
for  the  last  two  days  to  come  to  your 
help ; the  redskins  are  preparing  to  at- 
tack you — ” 

The  two  men  shuddered  : and,  for- 
getting all  else  to  think  only  of  the 
pressing  danger,  they  cast  a restless 
glance  around  them. 

“ You  know  it  ?”  Black  exclaimed. 

“ I know  all,”  she  answered  ; “ but 
reassure  yourselves.  You  have  still 
two  hours  ere  their  horrible  w'ar-cry 
will  sound  in  your  ears  : that  is  more 
than  enough  to  render  you  sate.” 

“ Oh  ! we  have  good  rifles  and  keen 
sight,”  said  William,  clutching  his  wea-  * 
pon  in  his  nervous  hands. 

“ What  can  four  rifles,  however  good 
they  may  be,  do  against  two  or  three 
hundred  tigers  thirsting  for  blood,  like 
those  you  will  have  to  fight  ? You  do 
not  know  the  redskins,  young  man.” 

“ That  is  true,”  he  answered  ; “ but 
what  is  to  be  done  ?” 

“ Seek  a refuge  ? — where  find  help  in 


48 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


these  immense  solitudes  V’  the  father 
added,  casting  a despairing  glance 
around  him. 

“ Did  I not  tell  you  I wished  to  help 
you  V1  she  said,  sharply. 

“ Yes,  you  told  us  so  ; but  I try  in 
vain  to  detect  of  what  use  you  can  be 
to  us.” 

i She  smiled  a melancholy  smile. 

“ It  is  your  good  angel  that  brought 
•Kou  to  the  spot  where  you  now  are. 
While  I was  matching  you  all  the  day, 
1 trembled  lest  you  might  not  encamp 
here.  Come !” 

The  two  men,  surprised  by  the  as- 
cendancy this  strange  creature  had 
gained  over  them  in  a few  minutes, 
followed  her  without  reply.  After 
walking  about  a dozen  steps,  she 
stopped,  and  turned  toward  them. 

“ Look,”  she  said,  stretching  out  her 
thin  arm  in  a north-west  direction, 
“ your  enemies  are  there,  scarce  two 
leagues  off,  bu’  ied  in  the  tall  grass.  I 
have  heard  their  plans,  and  was  present 
at  their  council,  though  they  little  sus- 
pected it.  They  are  only  waiting  for 
the  moon  to  set,  ere  they  attack  you. 
You  have  scarce  an  hour  left.” 

“ My  poor  wife  !”  Black  murmured. 

“ It  is  impossible  for  me  to  save  you 
all : to  fancy  it  would  be  madness ; 
but  1 can,  if  you  wish  it,  attempt  to 
save  your  wife  and  daughter  from  the 
fate  that  menaces  them.” 

“ Speak  ! speak  !” 

“ This  tree,  at  the  foot  of  which  we 
are  now  standing,  although  apparently 
possessing  all  the  vigor  of  youth,  is 
internally  hollow,  so  that  only  the  bark 
stands  upright.  Your  wife  and  daughter, 
supplied  with  some  provisions,  will  get 
into  the  tree  and  remain  there  in  safety 
till  the  danger  has  passed  away.  As 
for  ourselves ” 

“ As  for  us,”  Black  quickly  inter- 
rupted her,  “ we  are  men  accustomed 
to  danger : our  fate  is  in  the  hands  of 
God.” 

“ Good  ; but  do  not  despair  : all  is 
not  lost  yet.” 

The  American  shook  his  head.  * 

“ As  you  said  yourself,  what  can  four 
men  do  against  a legion  of  demons  like 
those  who  menace  us  1 but  that  is  not 


the  question  of  the  moment.  I do  not 
see  the  hole  by  which  my  wife  and 
daughter  can  enter  the  tree.” 

“It  is  twenty  to  twenty-four  feet  up, 
hidden  among  the  branches  and  leaves.” 

“ The  Lord  be  praised  ! they  will  be 
sheltered.” 

“Yes;  but  make  haste  and  warn 
them,  while  your  son  and  I make  all 
the  preparations.” 

Black,  convinced  of  the  necessity  of 
haste,  ran  off,  while  the  stranger  and 
William  constructed,  with  that  dexter- 
ity produced  by  the  approach  of  dan- 
ger, a species  of  har.dy  ladder,  by  which 
the  two  women  could  not  merely  ascend 
the  tree,  but  go  down  into  the  cavity. 
Black  waked  the  ladies,  and  called  the 
servants : in  a few  words  he  explained 
to  them  what  was  passing;  then,  load- 
ing his  wife  and  daughter  with  provi- 
sions, furs,  ana  other  indispensable  ob- 
jects, he  led  them  to  the  spot  where  the 
stranger  was  expecting  them. 

“ This  is  my  most  precious  treasure,” 
Black  said ; “if  I save  it,  I shall  be 
solely  indebted  to  you.” 

The  two  ladies  began  thanking  their 
mysterious  protectress ; but  she  im- 
posed silence  on  them  by  a peremptory 
gesture. 

“ Presently,  presently,”  she  said,  “ if 
we  escape,  we  shall  have  plenty  of  time 
for  mutual  congratulations  ; but  at  this 
moment  we  have  something  more  im- 
portant to  do  than  exchange  compli- 
ments. We  must  get  into  a place  of 
safety.” 

The  twro  ladies  fell  back,  quite  re- 
pulsed by  this  rough  reception,  while 
casting  a curious  and  alarmed  glance  on 
the  strange  creature.  But  the  latter, 
perfectly  stoical,  seemed  to  notice  no- 
thing. She  explained,  in  a few  clear 
words,  the  means  she  had  found  to  con- 
ceal them  : recommended  them  to  re- 
main silent  in  the  hollow  tree,  and  then 
ordered  them  to  mount.  The  two 
ladies,  after  embracing  Black  and  his 
son,  began  resolutely  ascending  the 
rungs  of  the  improvised  ladder.  They 
reached  in  a few  seconds  an  enormous 
branch,  on  which  they  stopped,  by  the 
orders  of  the  stranger.  Blaftk  then 
threw  down  into  the  interior  of  the  tree 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


49 


the  furs  and  provisions,  after  which  the 
ladder  was  placed  inside,  and  the  ladies 
glided  through  the  hole. 

“We  leave  you  the  ladder,  which  is 
useless  to  us,”  the  stranger  then  said. 
“ But  be  very  careful  not  to  come  out 
till  you  have  seen  me  again ; the  least 
imprudence,  under  the  circumstances, 
might  cost  your  lives.  However,  keep 
your  minds  at  rest.  Your  imprison- 
ment will  not  be  long,  a few  hours  at 
most : so  be  of  good  cheer.” 

The  ladies  once  again  tried  to  express 
their  gratitude;  but,  without  listening, 
the  stranger  made  Black  a sign  to  fol- 
low her,  and  rapidly  descended  from  the 
tree.  Aided  by  the  Americans,  she 
then  began  removing  every  trace  that 
might  have  revealed  where  the  ladies 
were  bestowed.  When  the  stranger 
had  assured  herself,  by  a final  glance, 
that  all  was  in  order,  and  nothing  could 
betray  those  who  were  so  famously  hid- 
den, she  sighed,  and,  followed  by  the 
two  men,  walked  to  the  intrenchments. 

“ Now,”  she  said,  “ let  us  watch  at- 
tentively around  us,  for  these  demons 
will  probably  crawl  close  up  in  the 
shadows.  You  are  free  and  honest 
Americans,  show  these  accursed  Indians 
what  you  can  do.” 

“ Let  them  come  !”  Black  muttered, 
hoarsely. 

“ They  will  soon  do  so,”  she  replied, 
and  pointed  to  several  almost  imper- 
ceptible black  dots,  which,  however, 
grew  larger,  and  were  evidently  ap- 
proaching the  encampment. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  DEFENCE  OF  THE  CAMP. 

The  redskins  have  a mode  of  fighting 
which  foils  all  the  methods  employed 
by  European  tactics,  in  order  to  un- 
derstand their  system  properly,  we 
must,  in  the  first  place,  bear  in  mind 
that  the  Indian  idea  of  honor  is  different 
from  ours.  This  understood,  the  rest 
may  be  easily  admitted.  The  Indians, 
in  undertaking  an  enterprise,  have  only 
one  object — success,  and  all  means  are 
good  to  attain  it.  Gifted  with  incon- 


testable courage,  at  times  rash  to  an  ex- 
cess, stopping  at  nothing,  and  recoiling 
before  no  difficulty — for  all  that,  when 
the  success  of  these  enterprises  appears 
to  them  dubious,  and  that  consequently 
the  object  is  missed,  they  retire  as  eaily 
as  they  advanced,  not  considering  their 
honor  compromised  by  a retreat,  or  by 
leaving  the  battle-fietd  to  an  enemy 
more  powerful  than  themselves,  or  well 
on  his  guard. 

Thus,  their  system  of  fighting  is  most 
simple,  and  they  only  proceed  by  sur- 
prises. The  redskins  will  follow  the 
enemy’s  trail  for  entire  months  with 
unequalled  patience,  never  relaxing  their 
watch  for  a moment,  spying  him  night 
and  day,  while  ever  careful  not  to  be 
themselves  surprised  : then,  vt  hen  the 
occasion  at  last  presents  itself,  And  they 
fancy  the  moment  arrived  to  execute 
the  project,  all  the  chances  for  o **  against 
which  they  have  so  long  ca’culated, 
they  act  with  a vigor  and  fuiy  which 
frequently  disconcert  those  they  attack; 
but  if  after  the  first  onset  they  are  re- 
pulsed— if  they  see  that  those  they  at- 
tack will  not  let  themselves  be  intimi- 
dated, and  are  prepared  to  resist,  then, 
on  a given  signal,  they  disappear  as  if 
by  enchantment,  and,  without  any 
shame,  begin  watching  again  for  a more 
favorable  moment. 

Black,  on  the  advice  of  the  stranger, 
had  placed  himself  and  his  party  in  such 
positions  that  they  could  survey  the 
prairie  in  every  direction.  The  stran- 
ger and  himself  were  leaning  on  their 
rifles  in  the  angle  that  faced  the  river. 
The  prairie  at  this  moment  presented  a 
singular  appearance.  The  breeze  which 
at  sunset  had  risen  with  a certain 
strength,  was  gently  dying  out,  scarce 
bending  the  tops  of  the  great  trees. 
The  moon,  almost  departed,  only  cast 
over  the  landscape  an  uncertain  and 
timorous  gleam,  which,  in  lieu  of  dissi- 
pating the  gloom,  only  rendered  the 
darkness  visible,  through  the  striking 
contrasts  between  the  obscurity  and  the 
pale  and  fugitive  rays  of  the  declining 
planet. 

At  times,  a dull  roar  or  a sharp  bark 
rose  in  the  silence,  and,  like  a sinister 
appeal,  reminded  the  emigrant  that  im- 
placable and  ferocious  enemies  were  on 


50 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


the  watch  around,  although  invisible. 
The  purity  of  the  atmosphere  was  so 
great,  that  the  slightest  sound  could  be 
heard  for  an  immense  distance,  and  it 
was  easy  to  distinguish  the  enormous 
blocks  of  granite  that  formed  black  dots 
on  the  ground. 

“ Do  you  know  for  certain  that  we 
shall  be  attacked  this  night?”  the 
American  asked,  in  a low  voice. 

“ I was  present  at  the  last  council  of 
the  chiefs,”  the  unknown  replied  dis- 
tinctly. 

The  emigrant  bent  on  her  a scrutin- 
izing glance,  which  she  recognized,  and 
immediately  understood  ; she  shrugged 
her  shoulders  disdainfully. 

“ Take  care,”  she  said  to  him  with  a 
certain  emphasis,  “ let  not  doubt  invade 
your  mind ; what  interest  should  l 
have  in  deceiving  you  ?” 

“ I know  not,”  he  replied,  dreamily, 
“ but  I also  ask  myself  what  interest 
you  have  in  defending  me  ?” 

“None;  since  you  place  the  matter 
on  that  footing,  what  do  I care  whether 
your  wealth  is  plundered,  your  wife, 
your  daughter,  and  yourself  scalped  ? 
it  is  a matter  of  supreme  indifference  to 
me,  but  must  the  affair  be  only  regard- 
ed from  .that  side  ? Do  you  imagine 
that  material  interests  have  a great 
weight  with  me  ? if  that  is  your  opin- 
ion I shall  withdraw,  leaving  you  to  get 
out  of  your  present  position  in  the  best 
way  you  can.” 

While  uttering  these  words,  she  had 
thrown  her  rifle  over  her  shoulder,  and 
prepared  to  climb  over  the  palisade, 
but  Black  quickly  checked  her. 

“You  do  not  unders'and  me,”  he 
said  ; “ any  man  in  my  place  would 
act  as  I do ; my  position  is  fearful  you 
allow  it,  yourself;  you  entered  my 
camp,  and  it  is  impossible  for  me  to 
guess  how.  Still,  1 have  hitherto  put 
the  utmost  confidence  in  you,  as  you 
cannot  deny  ; but  I do  not  know  who 
you  are,  or  what  motive  causes  you  to 
act.  Your  words,  far  from  explaining, 
plunge  me,  on  the  contrary,  into  great- 
er uncertainty  ; the  safety  of  my  entire 
family  and  all  I possess  is  at  stake;  re- 
flect seriously  on  all  this,  and  I defy 
you  to  disapprove  of  my  not  putting  ut- 
ter confidence  in  you,  although  you  are, 


doubtlessly,  deserving  of  it,  so  long  as  I 
do  not  know  who  you  are.” 

“ Yes,”  she  answered,  after  a mo- 
ments’ reflection,  “ you  are  right,  the 
world  is  so,  people  must  first  of  all  give 
their  name  and  quality  ; egotism  is  so 
thoroughly  the  master  over  the  whole 
surface  of  the  globe,  that  even  to  do  a 
person  a service,  you  require  a certifi- 
cate of  honesty,  for  no  one  will  admit 
disinterestedness  of  heart — that  aberra- 
tion of  generous  minds,  which  practical 
people  call  madness.  Unfortunately, 
you  must  take  me  for  what  I ap- 
pear, at  the  risk  of  seeing  me  go  away, 
and  hence  any  confidence  on  my  part 
would  be  superfluous.  You  will  judge 
me  by  my  acts,  the  only  proof  l can 
and  will  give  you  of  the  purity  of  my 
intentions ; you  are  free  to  accept  or 
decline  my  assistance,  and  after  all  is 
over,  you  can  thank  or  curse  me  at 
your  choice.” 

Black  was  more  perplexed  than  ever, 
the  stranger’s  explanation  only  rendered 
the  fog  denser,  instead  of  affording  him 
light.  Still,  in  spite  of  himself,  he  felt 
himself  attracted  toward  her.  After  a 
few  moments  of  serious  reflection  he 
raised  his  head,  struck  his  rifle  barrel 
smartly  with  his  right  hand,  and  look- 
ing his  companion  well  in  the  face,  said 
in  a firm  voice, — 

“ Listen,  I will  no  longer  try  to  learn 
whether  you  come  from  God  or  the  de- 
vil ; if  you  are  a spy  of  our  enemies, 
or  our  devoted  friend — events  as  you 
said,  will  soon  decide  the  question.  But 
bear  this  in  mind,  I will  carefully  watch 
your  slightest  gesture,  your  every  word. 
At  the  first  suspicious  word  or  move- 
ment I will  put  a bullet  through  your 
head,  even  if  1 am  killed  the  moment 
after.  Is  that  a bargain  ?” 

The  stranger  began  laughing. 

“ I accept,”  she  said.  “ I recognize 
the  Yankee  in  that  proposition.” 

After  this,  the  conversation  ceased, 
and  their  entire  attention  was  concen- 
trated on  the  prairie.  The  most  pro- 
found calm  still  continued  to  brood 
over  the  desert ; apparently,  all  was  in 
the  same  state  as  at  sunset.  Still  the 
stranger’s  piercing  eve  distinguished  on 
the  river  bank  several  wild  beasts  flying 
precipitately,  and  others  escaping  across 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


51 


the  river,  instead  of  continuing  to  drink. 
One  of  the  truest  axioms  of  the  desert 
is: — there  can  be  no  effect  without  a 
cause.  Everything  has  a reason  in  the 
prairie,  all  is  analyzed  or  commented 
on ; a leaf  does  not  fall  from  a tree,  a 
bird  fly  away,  without  the  observer 
knowing  or  guessing  why  it  has  hap- 
pened. 

After  a few  moments  of  profound  ex- 
amination, the  stranger  seized  the  emi- 
grant’s arm,  and  bending  down  to  his 
ear,  said  in  a weak  voice,  like  the  sigh- 
ing of  the  breeze,  one  word  which  made 
him  tremble,  as  she  stretched  out  her 
arm  in  the  direction  of  the  plain. 

“ Look !” 

Black  bent  forward. 

“ Oh  !”  he  said  a minute  after,  “ what 
is  the  meaning  of  this  V 1 

The  prairie,  as  we  have  already  men- 
tioned, was  covered  in  several  places 
by  blocks  of  granite  and  dead  trees; 
singularly  enough,  these  black  dots,  at 
first  a considerable  distance  from  the 
camp,  seemed  approaching  insensibly, 
and  now  only  a short  way  from  it.  As 
it  was  physically  impossible  for  rocks 
and  trees  to  move  of  their  own  accord, 
there  must  be  a cause  for  this,  which 
the  worthy  emigrant,  whose  mind  was 
anything  but  subtile,  cudgelled  his 
brains  in  vain  to  guess.  This  new 
Birnam  wood,  which  moved  all  alone 
made  him  excessively  uncomfortable; 
his  son  and  servants  had  also  noticed 
the  same  fact,  though  equally  unable  to 
account  for  it.  Black  remarked  speci- 
ally that  a tree  he  remembered  perfect- 
ly well  seeing  that  same  evening  more 
than  150  feet  from  the  mound,  had  sud- 
denly come  so  close,  that  it  was  hardly 
thirty  paces  off.  The  stranger,  without 
evincing  any  emotion,  whispered  : 

“ They  are  the  Indians  !” 

“ The  Indians  ?”  he  said,  “ impos- 
sible !” 

She  knelt  behind  the  palisade,  shoul- 
dered her  rifle,  and,  after  taking  a care- 
ful aim,  pulled  the  trigger.  A flash 
traversed  the  darkness,  and  at  the  same 
moment,  the  pretended  tree  bounded 
like  a deer.  A terrible  yell  was  raised, 
and  the  redskins  appeared,  rushing  to- 
ward the  camp  like  a herd  of  wolves, 


brandishing  their  weapons,  and  howling 
like  demons.  The  Americans,  very 
superstitious  people,  reassured  by  see- 
ing that  they  had  only  to  deal  with 
men,  when  they  feared  some  spell,  re- 
ceived their  enemies  bravely  with  a 
rolling  and  well-directed  fire.  Still,  the 
Indians,  probably  knowing  the  small 
number  of  white  men,  did  not  recoil, 
but  pushed  on  boldly.  The  redskins 
were  hardly  a few  yards  off,  and  were 
preparing  to  carry  the  barricades,  when 
a shot,  fired  by  the  stranger,  toppled 
over  an  Indian  ahead  of  the  rest,  at  the 
instant  he  turned  to  his  comrades  to  en- 
courage them  to  follow  him. 

The  fall  of  this  man  produced  an 
effect  which  the  Americans,  who  fancied 
themselves  lost,  were  far  from  antici- 
pating. As  if  by  enchantment,  the  In- 
dians disappeared,  the  yells  ceased,  and 
the  deepest  silence  prevailed  again.  It 
might  be  supposed  that  all  that  had 
pased  was  a dream.  The  Americans 
regarded  each  other  with  amazement, 
not  knowing  to  what  they  should  attri- 
bute this  sudden  retreat. 

“That  is  incomprehensible,”  Black 
said,  after  assuring  himself  by  a hasty 
glance  that  none  of  his  party  were 
wounded.  “ Can  you  explain  -that,  mis- 
tress, you,  who  seem  to  be  our  guardian 
angel,  for  it  is  to  your  last  shot  we  owe 
the  rest  we  at  present  enjoy  1” 

“ Ah !”  she  said,  with  a sarcastic 
smile,  “ you  are  beginning  to  me  justice, 
then.” 

“ Do  not  speak  about  that,”  the  emi- 
grant said,  with  an  angry  voice ; “ I am 
a fool ; pardon  me,  and  forget  my  sus- 
picions.” 

“ I have  forgotten  them,”  she  replied. 
“As  for  that  which  astounds  you,  it  is 
very  simple.  The  man  I killed,  or,  at 
any  rate,  wounded,  was  an  Indian  chief 
of  great  reputation.  On  seeing  him 
fall,  his  warriors  were  discouraged,  and 
they  ran  to  carry  him  off  the  field,  lest 
his  scalp  should  fall  into  your  hands.” 

“ Oh,  oh  !”  Black  said,  with  a gesture 
of  disgust;  “do  these  Pagans  fancy  we 
are  like  themselves  % No,  no!  I would 
kill  them  to  the  last  man  in  self-defence; 
but  as  for  scalping,  that  is  a different 
matter.  I am  an  honest  Virginian, 


52 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


without  a drop  of  red  blood  in  my  veins. 
My  father’s  son  does  not  commit  such 
infamy.” 

“I  approve  your  remarks,”  the  stran- 
ger said,  in  a sorrowful  voice;  “ scalp- 
ing is  a frightful  torture.  Unfortunate- 
ly, many  white  men  on  the  prairies  do 
not  think  like  you;  they  have  adopted 
Indian  fashions,  and  scalp,  without  cere- 
mony, the  enemies  they  kill.” 

“ They  are  wrong.” 

“Possibly;  I am  far  from  justifying 
them.” 

“ So  that,”  the  emigrant  joyfully  ex- 
claimed, “ we  are  free  from  these  red 
devils.” 

“ Do  not  rejoice  yet ; you  will  soon 
see  them  return.” 

“ What,  again  1” 

“ They  have  only  suspended  their  at- 
tack to  carry  off  their  killed  and  woun- 
ded, and  probably  to  invent  some  other 
plan,  to  get  the  better  of  you.” 

“ Oh,  that  will  not  be  difficult  ; in 
spite  of  all  our  efforts,  it  will  be  impos- 
sible for  us  to  resist  that  flock  of  birds 
of  prey,  who  rush  on  us  from  all  sides, 
as  on  a carcase.  What  can  five  rifles 
effect  against  that  legion  of  demons  V* 
“ Much,  if  you  do  not  despair.” 

“ Oh,  as  for  that  you  may  be  easy, 
we  will  not  yield  an  inch  : we  are  re- 
solved to  die  at  our  posts  !” 

“Your  bravery  pleases  me,”  the 
stranger  said,  “perhaps all  will  end  bet- 
ter than  you  suppose.” 

“ May  Heaven  hear  you,  my  worthy 
woman  !” 

“ Let  us  lose  no  time  ; the  Indians 
may  return  to  the  charge  at  any  mo- 
ment, so  let  us  try  to  be  as  successful 
this  time  as  the  first.” 

“ I will.” 

“ Good  ! are  you  a man  of  resolu- 
tion V* 

“ I fancy  1 have  proved  it.” 

“ That  is  true.  How  many  days’  pro- 
visions have  you  here  ?” 

“ Four,  at  the  least.” 

“ That  is  to  say,  eight,  if  necessary.” 
“ Pretty  nearly.” 

“ Good  ! Now,  if  you  like,  I will 
get  rid  of  your  enemies  for  a long 
time.” 

“ I ask  nothing  better.” 

Suddenly  the  war-whoop  of  the  red- 


skins was  again  heard  ; but  this  time 
more  strident  and  unearthly  than  the 
first. 

“ It  is  too  late  !”  the  stranger  said, 
sorrowfully.  “ All  that  is  left  is  to  die 
bravely.” 

“ Let  us  die,  then  ; bnt  first  kill  as 
many  of  these  savages  as  we  can,”  John 
Black  answered.  “Hurrah!  my  boys, 
for  Uncle  Sam  !” 

“Hurrah!”  his  comrades  shouted, 
brandishing  their  weapons. 

The  Indians  responded  to  this  chal- 
lenge by  yells  of  rage;  and  the  combat 
recommenced  ; though  this  time  it  was 
more  serious. 

After  rising  to  utter  their  formidable 
war-cry,  the  Indians  scattered,  and  ad- 
vanced slowly  toward  the  camp,  by 
crawling  on  the  ground.  When  they 
found  in  their  road  the  stump  of  a tree 
or  a bush  capable  of  offering  them  shel- 
ter, they  stopped  to  fire  an  arrow  or  a 
bullet.  The  new  tactics  adopted  by 
their  enemies  disconcerted  the  Ameri- 
cans, whose  bullets  were  too  often  wast- 
ed ; for,  unluckily,  the  Indians  were  al- 
most invisible  in  the  gloom,  and,  with 
that  cunning  so  characteristic  of  them, 
shook  the  grass  so  cleverly,  that  the  de- 
ceived emigrants  did  not  know  where 
to  aim. 

“ We  are  lost !”  Black  exclaimed,  de- 
spondingly. 

“ The  position  is  indeed  becoming 
critical  ; but  we  must  not  despair  yet,” 
the  stranger  remarked ; “ one  chance 
is  left  us  ; a very  poor  one,  I grant  ; 
but  which  1 shall  employ  when  the  mo- 
ment arrives.  Try  to  hold  out  in  a 
hand-to-hand  fight.” 

“ Come,”  the  emigrant  said,  shoulder- 
ing his  rifle,  “ there  is  one  of  the  devils 
who  will  not  get  any  further.” 

A Black  foot  warrior,  whose  head  rose 
at  this  moment  above  the  grass,  had  his 
skull  fractured  by  the  American’s  bul- 
let. The  redskins  suddenly  rose,  and 
rushed,  howling,  on  the  barricade,  where  ^ 
the  emigrants  awaited  them  firmly.  A 
point-blank  di  charge  received  the  Indi- 
ans, and  a hand-to-hand  fight  began. 

The  Americans,  standing  on  the  barri- 
cades and  clubbing  their  rifles,  dashed 
down  every  one  who  came  within  their 
reach.  Suddenly,  at  the  moment  when 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


53 


the  emigrants,  overpowered  by  num- 
bers, fell  back  a step,  the  stranger  rush- 
ed up  the  barricade,  with  a torch  in 
her  hand,  and  uttering  such  a savage 
yell,  that  the  combatants  stopped,  with 
a shudder.  The  flame  of  the  torch  was 
reflected  on  the  stranger’s  face,  and 
imparted  to  it  a demoniac  expression. 
She  held  her  head  high,  and  stretched 
out  her  arm,  with  a magnificent  gesture 
of  authority. 

“ Back  !”  she  shrieked,  “ Back,  de- 
vils !*’ 

At  this  extraordinary  apparition,  the 
redskins  remained  tor  a moment  mo- 
tionless, as  if  petrified,  but  then  they 
rushed  headlong  down  the  slope,  flying 
with  the  utmost  terror.  The  Ameri- 
cans, interested  witnesses  cf  this  incom- 
prehensible scene,  gave  a sigh  of  relief. 
They  were  saved  ! Saved  by  a mira- 
cle ! They  then  rushed  toward  the 
stranger,  to  express  their  gratitude  to 
her. 

She  had  disappeared  ! In  vain  did 
the  Americans  look  for  her  everywhere; 
they  could  not  imagine  whither  she  was 
gone;  she  seemed  to  have  suddenly  be- 
come invisible.  The  torch  she  held  in 
her  hand,  when  addressing  the  Indians, 
lay  on  the  ground,  where  it  still  smoked; 
it  was  the  only  trace  she  left  of  her  pre- 
sence in  the  emigrants’  camp. 

John  Black  and  his  companions  lost 
themselves  in  conjectures  on  her  ac- 
count, while  dressing,  as  well  as  they 
could,  the  wounds  they  had  received  in 
the  engagement,  when  his  wife  and 
daughter  suddenly  appeared  in  the 
camp.  Black  rushed  toward  them. 

“How  imprudent  of  you!”  he  ex- 
claimed. “ Why  have  you  left  your 
hiding  place  in  spite  of  the  warnings 
given  you  ?” 

His  wife  looked  at  him  in  amaze- 
ment. 

“ We  left  it,”  she  replied,  “by  the 
directions  of  the  strange  woman  to 
whom  we  are  all  so  deeply  indebted 
this  night.” 

“ What ! have  you  seen  her  again  V 

“ Certainly  ; a few  moments  back  she 
came  to  us  ; we  were  half  dead  with 
terror,  for  the  sounds  of  the  fighting 
reached  us,  and  we  were  completely  ig- 
norant of  what  was  occurring.  After 


reassuring  us,  she  told  us  that  all  was 
over,  that  we  had  nothing  more  to  fear, 
and  that,  if  we  liked,  we  could  rejoin 
you.” 

“ But  she — what  did  she  do?” 

“ She  led  us  to  this  spot ; then,  in 
spite  of  our  entreaties,  she  went  away, 
saying  that  as  we  no  longer  needed  her, 
her  presence  was  useless,  while  impor- 
tant reasons  compelled  her  departure.” 

The  emigrant  then  told  the  ladies  all 
about  the  events  of  the  night,  and  the 
obligations  they  owed  to  this  extraor- 
dinary female.  They  listened  to  the 
narrative  with  the  utmost  attention,  not 
knowing  to  what  they  should  attribute 
her  strange  conduct,  and  feeling  their 
curiosity  aroused  to  the  utmost  pitch. 
Unfortunately,  the  peculiar  way  in 
which  the  stranger  had  retired,  did  not 
appear  to  evince  any  great  desire  on 
her  part  to  establish  more  intimate  re  ■ 
lations  with  the  emigrants. 

In  the  desert,  however,  there  is  but 
little  time  to  be  given  to  reflections  and 
comments  ; action  is  before  all  ; men 
must  live  and  defend  themselves.  Hence 
Black,  without  losing  further  time  in 
trying  to  solve  the  riddle,  occupied  him- 
self actively  in  repairing  the  breaches 
made  in  his  entrenchments,  and  fortify- 
ing his  camp  more  strongly, were  it  pos- 
sible, by  piling  up  on  the  barricades  all 
the  articles  within  reach.  When  these 
first  duties  for  the  common  safety  w*ere 
accomplished,  the  emigrant  thought  of 
his  cattle.  He  had  placed  them  at  a 
spot  where  the  bullets  could  not  reach 
them,  close  to  the  tent,  into  which  his 
wife  and  daughter  had  again  withdrawn, 
and  had  surrounded  them  by  a quantity 
of  interlaced  branches.  On  entering 
this  corral,  Black  uttered  a cry  of 
amazement,  which  was  soon  changed  in- 
to a yell  of  fury.  His  son  and  the  men 
ran  up  ; the  horses  and  one  half  ihe 
cattle  had  disappeared.  During  the 
fight  the  Indians  had  carried  them  off, 
and  the  noise  had  prevented  their  flight 
being  heard.  It  seemed  probable  that 
the  stranger’s  interference,  by  striking 
the  Indians  with  terror,  had  alone  pre- 
vented the  robbery  being  completed, 
and  the  whole  of  the  cattle  carried  off. 

The  loss  was  enormous  to  the  emi- 
grant ; although  all  his  cattlo  had  not 


54 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


disappeared,  enough  had  been  carried 
off  to  render  further  progress  impossi- 
ble. II  is  resolution  was  formed  with 
that  promptitude  so  characteristic  of 
the  North  American. 

“ Our  beasts  are  stolen,”  he  said,  “ I 
must  have  them  back.” 

“Quite  right,”  William  answered; 
“at  day-break  we  will  go  on  their 
track.” 

“ I,  but  not  you,  my  son,”  the  emi- 
grant said.  “Sam  will  go  with  me.” 

“ What  shall  I do,  then  V ’ 

“Stay  in  the  camp  to  guard  your 
mother  and  sister.  I will  leave  James 
with  you.” 

The  young  man  made  no  reply. 

“ I will  not  let  the  Pagans  boast  of 
having  eaten  my  oxen,”  Black  said 
WTathfully.  “ By  my  father’s  soul,  I 
will  get  them  back,  or  lose  my  scalp  !” 
The  night  had  passed  away  while  the 
camp  was  being  fortified.  The  sun, 
though  still  invisible,  was  beginning  to 
tinge  the  horizon  with  a purple  light. 

“ Ah,  look  !”  Black  continued,  “ here’s 
day  ; let  us  lose  no  time,  but  set  off.  I 
recommend  your  mother  and  sister  to 
your  care,  Will,  as  well  as  all  that  is 
here.” 

“ You  can  go,  father,”  the  young  man 
said.  “ I will  keep  good  watch  during 
your  absence  ; you  may  be  easy.” 

The  emigrant  pressed  his  son’s  hand, 
threw  his  rifle  over  his  shoulder,  made 
a sign  to  Sam  to  follow  him,  and  walk- 
ed  towards  the  entrenchment. 

“ It  is  useless  to  wake  your  mother,” 
he  said  as  he  walked  on  ; “ When  she 
comes  out  of  the  tent,  you  will  tell  her 
what  has  occurred,  and  what  I have 
done ; I am  certain  she  will  approve  of 
it.  So,  good-bye,  my  boy,  and  mind 
you  are  on  the  watch.” 

“ And  you,  father — good  luck  !” 

“ May  heaven  grant  it,  boy,”  the 
emigrant  said,  sorrowfully.  “Such 
splendid  cattle  !” 

“ Stay  !”  the  young  man  exclaimed, 
holding  his  father  back,  at  the  moment 
the  latter  was  preparing  to  climb  over 
the  barricades.  “ What  is  that  I see 
down  there 

The  emigrant  turned  quickly. 

“ Do  you  see  anvthing,  Will — where- 
abouts V’ 


“Look,  father,  in  that  direction.  But 
what  is  the  meaning  of  it  ? It  must  be 
our  cattle.” 

The  emigrant  looked  in  the  direction 
his  son  indicated. 

“ What !”  he  exclaimed,  joyfully  ; 
“ why,  those  are  our  cattle.  Where  on 
earth  do  they  come  from  ] and  who  is 
bringing  t!iem  back 

In  fact  at  a great  distance  on  the  prai- 
rie, the  American’s  cattle  were  visible, 
galloping  rapidly  in  the  direction  of  the 
camp,  and  raising  a cloud  of  dust  behind 
them. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  INDIAN  CHIEF. 

The  Count  de  Beaulieu  was  far  from 
suspecting,  as  he  carelessly  prepared  to 
light  a cigar,  that  the  lucifer  match  he 
employed  would  at  once  render  him  so 
important  in  the  sight  of  the  Indians. 
But,  so  soon  as  he  recognized  the  power 
of  the  weapon  chance  placed  in  his 
hands,  he  resolved  to  employ  it,  and 
turn  to  his  own  profit  the  superstitious 
ignorance  of  the  redskins.  Enjoy. ng, 
in  his  heart,  the  triumph  he  had  ob- 
tained, the  count  frowned,  and  employ- 
ing the  language  and  emphatic  gestures 
of  the  Indians,  when  he  saw  they  were 
sufficiently  recovered  to  listen  to  him, 
he  addressed  them  with  the  command- 
ing tone,  which  always  imposes  on  the 
masses. 

“ Let  my  brothers  open  their  ears  ; 
the  words  my  lips  utter  must  be  heard 
and  understood  by  all.  My  brothers 
are  simple  men,  prone  to  error ; truth 
must  enter  their  hearts  like  an  iron 
wedge.  My  goodness  is  great,  because 
I am  powerful ; instead  of  chastising 
them  when  they  dared  to  lay  hands  on 
me,  I am  satisfied  with  displaying  my 
power  before  their  eyes.  I am  a great 
physician  of  the  pale  faces ; I possess 
all  the  secrets  of  the  most  famous  medi- 
cines. If  I pleased,  the  birds  of  the  air 
and  the  fish  of  the  river  would  come  to 
do  me  homage,  because  the  Master  of 
Life  is  within  me,  and  has  given  me  his 
medicine  rod.  Listen  to  this,  redskins, 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


55 


and  remember  it:  when  the  first  man 
was  born,  he  walked  on  the  banks  of 
the  Mecha-chebe ; there  he  met  the 
Master  of  Life:  the  Master  of  Life 
saluted  him,  and  said  to  him,  ‘Thou 
art  my  son/ 

“ ‘ No,”  the  first  man  made  answer, 
* thou  art  my  son,  and  I will  prove  it 
to  thee,  if  thou  dost  not  believe  me. 
We  will  sit  down  and  plant  in  the  earth 
the  medicine  rod  we  hold  in  our  hands  ; 
the  one  who  rises  first  will  be  the 
younger,  and  the  son  of  the  other.’ 

“ They  sat  down,  then,  and  looked  at 
each  other  for  a long  time,  until  at 
length  the  Master  of  Life  turned  pale, 
and  the  flesh  left  his  bones;  on  which 
the  first  man  exclaimed,  joyfully, ‘At 
length  thou  art  assuredly  dead.’ 

u And  they  regarded  each  other  thus 
during  ten  times  ten  moons,  and  ten 
times  more ; and  as,  at  the  end  of  that 
time,  the  bones  of  the  Master  of  Life 
were  completely  bleached,  the  first  man 
rose  and  said,  ‘Yes,  now  there  is  no 
more  doubt;  he  is  certainly  dead.’ 

“ He  then  took  the  medicine  stick  of 
the  Master  of  Life,  and  drew  it  from  the 
earth.  But  then  the  Master  of  Life 
rose,  and,  taking  the  stick  from  him, 
said  to  him,  ‘Stop!  here  I am;  I am 
thy  father,  and  thou  art  my  son.’ 

“ And  the  first  man  recognized  him  as 
his  father.  But  the  Master  of  Life  then 
added, ‘Thou  art  my  son,  first  man; 
thou  can’st  not  die;  take  my  medicine 
staflf;  when  I have  to  communicate  with 
my  redskin  sons,  I will  send  thee.’ 

“ This  is  the  medicine  staff.  Are  you 
ready  to  execute  my  orders  ?” 

These  words  were  uttered  with  so 
profound  an  accent  of  truth,  the  legend 
related  by  the  Count  was  so  true  and  so 
well  known  by  all,  that  the  Indians, 
whom  the  miracle  of  the  match  had  al- 
ready disposed  to  credulity,  put  com- 
plete faith  in  it,  and  answered  respect- 
fully : 

“ Let  my  father  speak : what  he 
wishes,  we  wish.  Are  we  not  his  chil- 
dren ? ’ 

“ Hence,”  the  Count  continued,  “ I 
wish  to  speak  with  you,  chief,  alone.” 
Natah  Otann  had  listened  to  the 
Count’s  discourse  with  the  deepest  at- 
tention : at  times,  an  observer  might 


have  noticed  a flash  of  joy  cross  his  fea- 
tures, immediately  followed,  however, 
by  a feeling  of  pleasure,  which  lit  up 
his  intelligent  eyes;  he  applauded,  like 
his  warriors,  perhaps  more  warmly  than 
they,  when  the  young  man  ceased  speak- 
ing. On  hearing  him  say  that  he  would 
speak  with  the  sachem  alone,  a smile 
played  on  his  lips  : he  made  the  Indians 
a sign  to  retire,  and  walked  towards  the 
Count  with  an  ease  and  grace,  which  the 
other  could  not  refrain  from  noticing. 
There  was  a native  nobility  in  this 
young  chief,  which  pleased  at  the  first 
glance,  and  attracted  sympathy. 

After  bowing  respectfully,  the  Black- 
feet  warriors  went  down  the  hill,  and 
collected  about  one  hundred  yards  from 
the  camping  place. 

There  were  two  men  whom  the 
Count’s  eloquence  had  surprised  quite 
as  much  as  the  Indian  warriors.  These 
were  Brighteye  and  Ivon  ; neither  of 
them  understood  a syllable,  and  the 
young  man’s  Indian  science  completely 
threw  them  out.  They  awaited  in  the 
utmost  anxiety  the  denoument  of  this 
scene,  whose  meaning  they  could  not 
decipher. 

When  left  alone  (for  the  hunter  and 
Ivon  soon  also  withdrew),  the  French- 
man and  the  Indian  examined  each  other 
wi  h extreme  attention.  But,  whatever 
efforts  the  white  man  made  to  read  the 
sentiments  of  the  man  he  had  before 
him,  he  was  obliged  to  allow  that  he 
had  to  deal  with  one  of  those  superior 
natives,  on  whose  face  it  is  impossible 
to  read  anything,  and  who,  under  all 
circumstances,  are  ever  masters  of  th^ir 
impressions;  furthermore,  the  fixity 
and  metallic  lustre  of  the  Indian’s  eye 
caused  him  to  feel  a secret  uneasiness, 
which  he  hastened  to  remove  by  spea Ic- 
ing, as  if  that  would  break  the  charm. 

“Chief,”  he  said,  “now  that  your 
warriors  have  retired ” 

Natah  Otann  interrupted  him  by  a 
sign,  and  bowed  courteously. 

“Pardon  me,  Monsieur  le  Comte,” 
he  said,  with  an  accent  which  a native 
of  the  banks  of  the  Seine  would  have 
envied  : “ I think  the  slight  practice  you 
have  had  in  speaking  our  language  is 
wearisome  to  you  ; if  you  would  please 
to  express  yourself  in  French,  I fancy  I 


56 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


understand  that  language  well  enough 

o o o 

to  follow  you.” 

“ Eh  ?”  the  Count  exclaimed,  with  a 
start  of  surprise.  “ What  is  that  you 
say  ?” 

Had  a thunderbolt  fallen  at  the 
Count’s  feet,  he  would  not  have  been 
more  surprised  and  terrified  than  on 
hearing  this  savage,  who  wore  the  com- 
plete costume  of  the  Blackfeet,  and 
whose  face  was  painted  of  four  dif- 
ferent colors,  express  himself  so  purely 
in  French.  Natah  Otanu  did  not  seem 
to  notice  his  companion’s  agitation,  but 
continued  coldly : 

“ Deign  to  pardon  me,  Monsieur  le 
Comte,  for  employing  terms  which 
must  certainly  have  offended  you  by 
their  triviality  ; but  the  few  occasions  I 
have  for  speaking  French  in  this  desert 
must  serve  as  an  excuse.” 

M.  de  Beaulieu  was  a prey  to  one  of 
those  surprises,  which  grow  gradually 
greater.  He  no  longer  knew  were  he 
awake,  or  suffering  from  a nightmare  ; 
what  he  heard  seemed  to  him  so  incre- 
dible and  incomprehensible,  that  he 
could  not  find  words  to  express  his 
feelings. 

“Who  on  earth  are  youl”  he  ex- 
claimed, when  sufficiently  master  of 
himself  to  speak. 

“ J,”  Natah  Otann  remarked,  careless- 
ly ; “ why,  you  see  l am  a poor  Indian, 
and  nothing  more.” 

“ ’Tis  impossible,”  the  young  man 
said. 

“ I assure  you,  sir,  that  I have  told 
you  the  exact  truth.  Hang  it,”  he 
added,  with  charming  frankness,  “ if  you 
find  me  a little  less — what  shall  I say  ? 
— coarse,  you  must  not  consider  it  a 
crime  ; that  results  from  considerations 
entirely  independent  of  my  will,  which 
1 will  tell  you  some  day,  if  you  wish  to 
hear  them.” 

The  Count,  as  we  think  we  have  said, 
was  a man  of  great  courage,  whom  but 
few  things  could  disturb ; the  first  im- 
pression passed,  he  bravely  took  his 
part;  perfectly  master  of  himself,  hence- 
forth, he  frankly  accepted  the  position 
which  accident  had  so  singularly  made 
for  him. 

“ By  Jove !”  he  said,  with  a laugh, 


“ the  meeting  is  a strange  one,  and  may 
reasonably  surprise  me.  You  will 
therefore  pardon,  my  dear  sir,  that  as- 
tonishment— in  extreme  bad  taste,  1 
grant — which  I at  first  evinced,  on 
hearing  you  address  me  as  you  did.  I 
was  so  far  from  expecting  to  meet,  six 
hundred  leagues  from  civilised  countries, 
a man  so  well  bred  as  yourself,  that  1 
confess  I at  first  hardly  knew  what  saint 
to  invoke  ” 

“ You  flatter  me,  sir ; believe  me  that 
I feel  highly  grateful  for  the  good  opin- 
ion you  are  good  enough  to  have  of 
me.  Now,  if  you  permit,  we  will  go 
back  to  our  business.” 

“ On  my  faith,  I am  so  staggered  by 
all  that  has  happened,  that  I really  do 
not  know  what  1 am  about.” 

“ Nonsense,  that  is  nothing ; I will 
lead  you  back  to  the  right  track : after 
the  charming  address  you  made  us,  you 
seemed  to  desire  speech  with  me  alone.” 

“ Hum  !”  the  Count  said,  with  a 
smile,  “ I am  afraid  that  I must  have 
appeared  to  you  supremely  ridiculous 
with  my  legend,  especially  my  remarks, 
but  then  I could  not  suspect  that  I had 
an  auditor  of  your  stamp.” 

Natah  Otann  shook  his  head  sadly  ; a 
melancholy  expression  for  a moment 
darkened  his  face. 

“ No,”  he  said,  “ you  acted  as  you 
were  bound  to  do;  but  while  you  were 
speaking,  I was  thinking  of  those  poor 
Indians,  sunk  so  deeply  in  error,  and 
asking  myself  whether  there  was  any 
hope  of  their  regeneration  before  the 
white  men  succeed  in  utterly  destroy- 
ing them.” 

The  chief  uttered  these  words  with 
such  a marked  accent  of  grief  and  hatred, 
that  the  Count  was  moved  by  the 
thought  how  this  man,  with  a soul  of 
fire,  must  suffer  at  the  brutalization  of 
his  race. 

“ Courage  !”  he  said,  holding  out  h's 
hand  to  him. 

“ Courage !”  the  Indian  repeated, 
bitterly,  though  clasping  the  proffered 
hand.  “After  each  defeat  1 experience 
in  the  struggle  1 have  undertaken,  the 
man  who  has  served  as  my  father,  and 
unfortunately  made  me  what  I am, 
never  ceases  to  say  that  to  me.” 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


57 


There  was  a moment  of  silence  ; each 
was  busied  with  his  own  thoughts.  At 
length  Natah  Otann  proceeded  : 

“ Listen,  Monsieur  le  Comte ; be- 
tween men  of  a certain  stamp,  there  is  a 
species  of  undefinable  feeling,  which  at 
taches  them  to  each  other  in  spite  of 
themselves.  For  the  six  months  you 
have  been  traversing  the  desert  in  every 
direction,  I have  never  once  lost  sight 
of  you  ; you  would  have  been  dead  long 
ere  this,  but  I spread  a secret  aegis  over 
you. 

“ Oh,  do  not  thank  me,”  he  said, 
quickly,  as  the  young  man  made  a sign. 
“ I have  acted  rather  in  my  own  interest 
than  yours.  What  I say  surprises  you, 
I daresay,  but  it  is  so.  Allow  me  to 
tell  you,  that  I have  views  with  refer- 
ence to  yourself,  whose  secrets  I will 
unfold  to  you  in  a few  days,  when  we 
know  each  other  better  ; as  for  the  pre- 
sent, 1 will  obey  you  in  whatever  you 
wish  ; in  the  eyes  of  my  countrymen,  1 
will  keep  up  that  miraculous  halo  which 
surrounds  your  brow.  You  wish  these 
American  emigrants  to  be  left  at  peace, 
very  good  ; for  your  sake  I pardon  this 
race  of  vipers ; but  I ask  you  one  favor 
in  return.” 

“ Speak !” 

“ When  you  are  certain  the  people 
you  wish  to  save  are  in  security,  ac- 
company me  to  my  village, — that  is 
all  I desire.  That  will  not  cost  you 
much,  especially  as  my  tribe  is  encamp- 
ed not  more  than  a day’s  march  from 
the  spot  where  you  now  are.” 

“ 1 accept  your  proposition,  chief.  1 
will  accompany  you  wherever  you  may 
please,  though  not  till  I am  certain  that 
my  proteges  no  longer  require  my  aid.” 
“ That  is  agreed.  Stay,  one  word 
more.” 

“ Say  it.” 

“ It  is  well  understood  that  I am  only 
an  Indian  like  the  rest,  even  to  the  two 
white  men  who  accompany  you  !” 

“ You  demand  it ?” 

“ For  our  common  welfare  : a word 
spoken  thoughtlessly,  any  indiscretion 
how  trifling  soever,  would  destroy  us 
both.  Ah  ! you  do  not  know  the  red- 
skins yet,”  he  added,  with  that  melan- 
choly smile  which  had  already  given 


the  Count  so  much  subject  for  thought. 

“Very  good,”  he  answered;  “you 
may  be  easy,  1 am  warned.” 

“ Now,  if  you  think  proper,  I will  re- 
call my  warriors  ; a longer  conference 
between  us  might  arouse  their  jealou- 
sy.” 

“ Do  so  ; I trust  entirely  to  you.” 

“You  will  have  no  reason  to  repent 
it,”  Natah  Otann  replied  graciously. 

While  the  chief  went  to  join  his  com- 
panions, the  Count  walked  up  to  the 
two  white  men. 

“Well  ?”  Brighteye  asked  him,  “have 
you  obtained  what  you  wanted  from 
that  man'?” 

“ Perfectly,”  he  answered  ; “ I only 
wished  to  say  a few  words  to  him.” 

The  hunter  looked  at  him  cunningly. 

“ I did  not  think  him  so  easy,”  he 
said. 

“ Why  so  ? my  friend.” 

“ His  reputation  is  great  in  the  des- 
ert ; I have  known  him  for  a very  long 
period.” 

“ Ah  !”  the  young  man  said,  not  at 
all  sorry  to  obtain  some  information 
about  the  man  who  perplexed  him  so 
greatly  ; “ what  reputation  then  has 
he  r 


Brighteye  seemed  to  hesitate  for  a 
moment. 

“ Are  you  afraid  to  explain  yourself 
clearly  on  that  head  ?”  the  Count  asked. 

“ 1 have  no  reason  for  that;  on  the 
contrary,  with  the  exception  of  that  day 
on  which  he  wished  to  flay  me  alive — a 
slight  mistake,  which  I pardon  with  my 
whole  heart — our  relations  have  always 
been  excellent.” 

“ The  more  so,”  the  Count  said,  with 
a laugh,  “ because  you  never  met  again, 
to  my  knowledge,  till  this  day.” 

“ That  is  what  1 meant  to  say.  Look 
you — Natah  Otann,  between  ourselves, 
is  one  of  those  Indians  whom  it  is  far 
more  advantageous  not  to  see  : he  is 
like  the  owl — his  presence  always  fore- 
bodes evil.” 

“ The  deuce  ! You  trouble  me  great- 
ly by  speaking  so,  Brighteye.” 

“ Suppose  I had  said  nothing,  then,” 
he  answered,  quickly  ; “ for  my  part, 
I should  prefer  to  be  silent.” 

“ That  is  possible  ; but  the  little  you 


i 


58 


THE  FLOWER,  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


have  allowed  to  escape  has,  I confess, 
so  awakened  my  curiosity,  that  I should 
not  be  sorry  to  learn  more.” 

“ Unfortunately,  I know  nothing.” 

“ Still,  you  spoke  of  his  reputation 
— is  that  bad  ?” 

“ I did  not  say  so,”  Brighteye  answer- 
ed, with  reserve.  “ You  know,  Mr. 
Edward,  that  Indian  manners  are  very 
different  from  ours  : what  is  bad  to  us 
is  regarded  very  differently  by  Indians; 
and  so ” 

“ So,  I suppose,”  the  Count  interrupt- 
ed, “ Natah  Otann  has  an  execrable  rep- 
utation.” 

“ No,  I assure  you  ; that  depends  on 
the  way  in  which  you  look  at  matters.” 
“ Good  ; and  what  is  your  personal 
opinion  ?” 

“ Oh,  I,  as  you  are  aware,  am  only  a 
poor  fellow  : still,  it  seems  to  me  as  if 
this  demon  of  an  Indian  is  more  crafty 
than  this  whole  tribe  ; between  our- 
selves, he  is  regarded  as  a sorcerer  by 
his  countrymen,  who  are  frightfully 
afraid  of  him.” 

“Is  that  all  ?” 

“ Nearly.” 

“ After  that,”  the  Count  said,  lightly, 
“ as  he  has  asked  me  to  accompany  him 
to  his  village,  the  few  days  we  spend 
with  him  will  enable  us  to  study  him  at 
our  ease.” 

The  hunter  gave  a start  of  surprise. 
“ You  will  not  do  so,  I trust,  Sir  ?” 

“ I do  not  see  what  can  prevent  me.” 
“ Yourself,  Sir : who,  I hope,  will  not 
wralk,  with  your  eyes  open,  into  the  li- 
on’s jaws.” 

“ Will  you  explain — yes,  or  no  ?”  the 
Count  exclaimed,  with  rising  impa- 
tience. 

“ Oh,  what  is  the  use  of  explaining  ? 
— will  what  I say  stop  you  ? No,  I am 
persuaded  of  that.  You  see,  therefore, 
it  is  useless  for  me  to  say  more  ; be- 
sides, it  is  too  late — the  chief  is  return- 
ing.” 

The  Count  made  a movement  of  ill 
humor,  at  once  suppressed  ; but  this 
movement  did  not  escape  Natah  Otann, 
w ho  at  this  moment  appeared  on  the 
plateau.  The  young  man  walked  to- 
ward him. 

“ W ell  ?”  he  asked  eagerly. 


“ My  young  men  consent  to  do  what 
our  pale-face  father  desires  ; if  he  will 
mount  his  horse  and  follow  us,  he  can 
convince  himself  that  our  intentions  are 
loyal.” 

“ I follow  you,  chief,”  the  Count  re- 
plied, making  Ivon  a sign  to  bring  up 
his  horse. 

The  Blackfeet  welcomed  the  three 
hunters  with  unequivocal  signs  of  joy. 

“ Forward  !”  the  young  man  said. 

Natah  Otann  raised  his  arm.  At  this 
signal  the  warriors  drove  in  their  knees, 
and  the  horses  started  like  a hurricane. 

No  one,  who  has  not  witnessed  it,  can 
form  an  idea  of  an  Indian  chase;  nothing 
stops  the  redskins  — no  obstacle  is 
powerful  enough  to  make  them  deviate 
from  their  course ; they  go  in  a straight 
line,  rolling  like  a human  whirlwind 
across  the  prairie,  crossing  gulleys, 
ravines  and  rocks,  with  dizzy  rapidity. 
Natah  Otann,  the  Count,  and  his  two 
companions,  were  at  the  head  of  the 
cavalcade,  closely  followed  by  the  war- 
riors. All  at  once,  the  chief  checked 
his  horse,  shouting  at  the  top  of  his 
voice : 

“ Halt !” 

All  obeyed,  as  if  by  enchantment : 
the  horses  stopped  dead,  and  remained 
motionless,  as  if  their  feet  were  planted 
in  the  ground. 

“ W hy  stop  ?”  the  Count  asked ; “ we 
had  better  push  on.” 

“ It  is  useless,”  the  chief  said,  calmly ; 
“let  my  pale  brother  look  before  him.” 

The  Count  bent  down  on  his  horse’s 
neck. 

“ I can  see  nothing,”  he  said. 

“That  is  true,’  the  Indian  said;  “I 
forgot  that  my  brother  has  the  eyes  of 
the  pale  faces.  In  a few  minutes  he 
will  see.” 

The  Blackfeet  anxiously  collected 
round  their  chief,  whom  they  questioned 
with  their  glances.  The  latter,  appa- 
rently impassive,  looked  straight  ahead, 
distinguishing  in  the  darkness  objects 
invisible  to  all  but  himself.  The  In- 
dians, however,  had  not  long  to  wait, 
for  some  horsemen  soon  came  up  at 
full  speed.  When  they  arrived  near 
Natah  Otann’s  party,  they  stopped. 

“What  has  happened?”  the  chief 


THE  FLOWER  OF  TIIE  PRAIRIE. 


59 


asked,  sternly  ; “ why  are  my  sons  run- 
ning away  thus?  They  are  not  war- 
riors, 1 see,  but  timid  women.” 

The  Indians  bowed  their  heads  with 
humility  at  this  reproach,  but  made  no 
answer.  The  chief  continued  : 

“ Will  no  one  inform  us  of  what  has 
happened — why  my  chosen  warriors  are 
flying  like  scattered  antelopes  ? Where 
is  Long  Horn  ?” 

A warrior  emerged  from  the  ranks. 

“ Long  Horn  is  dead,”  he  said,  sor- 
rowfully. 

“ He  was  a wise  and  renowned  war- 
rior; he  has  gone  to  the  happy  hunting 
grounds  to  hunt  with  the  upright  war- 
riors. As  he  is  dead,  why  did  not  the 
Blackbird  take  the  totem  in  liis  hand  in 
his  place  ?” 

“ Because  the  Blackbird  is  dead,”  the 
warrior  answered,  in  the  same  tone. 

Natah  Otann  frowned,  and  his  brow 
was  contracted  by  the  effort  he  made  to 
suppress  his  passion. 

“ Oh  !”  he  said,  bitterly,  “ the  great- 
hearts  of  the  east  have  fought  well  ; 
their  rifles  carried  truly.  The  two  best 
chiefs  of  the  nation  have  fallen,  but  the 
Red  Wolf  still  remained— why  did  he 
not  avenge  his  brothers  ?” 

“ Because  he  is  also  fallen,”  the  war- 
rior said,  in  a mournful  voice. 

A shudder  of  anger  ran  through  the 
ranks. 

“ Wah  !”  Natah  Otann  exclaimed, 
with  grief,  “what,  is  he  also  dead  ?” 

“ No  ; but  he  is  dangerously 
wounded.” 

After  these  words  there  was  a silence. 
The  chief  looked  around  him,  and  then^ 
said : . * 

“ So  ! four  pale  faces  have  held  at 
bay  two  hundred  warriors ; killed  and 
wounded  their  bravest  chiefs,  and  those 
warriors  have  not  taken  their  revenge. 
Ah  ! ah  ! what  will  the  White  Buffalo 
say  when  he  hears  that?  He  will  give 
petticoats  to  my  sons,  and  make  them 
prepare  food  for  the  more  courageous 
warriors,  instead  of  sending  them  on  the 
war- path.” 

“ The  camp  of  the  Long  Knives  was 
in  our  power,”  the  Indian  replied,  who 
had  hitherto  spoken  for  his  comrades, 

“ we  already  had  them  down  with  our 
knees  on  their  chests,  a portion  of  their 

4 


cattle  was  carried  off,  and  the  scalps  of 
the  pale  faces  were  about  to  be  attached 
to  our  girdles,  when  the  Evil  Genius 
suddenly  appeared  in  their  midst,  and, 
by  her  mere  presence,  changed  the  face 
of  the  combat.” 

The  chief’s  face  became  still  severer 
at  this  news,  which  his  warriors  receiv- 
ed with  unequivocal  marks  of  terror. 

“ The  ‘ Evil  Genius  !’  ” he  said  ; “ of 
whom  is  my  brother  speaking?” 

“ Of  whom  else  can  1 speak  to  my 
father,  save  the  Lying  She-wolf  of  the 
Prairies,”  the  Indian  said,  in  a low 
voice. 

“ Oh  ! oh  !”  Natah  Otann  answered, 
“did  my  brothers  see  the  She-wolf?” 

“ Yes ; we  assure  our  father,”  the 
Blackfeet  shouted  altogether,  happy  to 
clear  themselves  of  the  charge  of 
cowardice  that  weighed  on  them. 

Natah  Otann  seemed  to  reflect  for  a 
moment. 

“ At  what  place  are  the  cattle  my 
brothers  carried  off  from  the  Long 
Knives?”  he  asked. 

“ We  have  brought  them  with  us,”  a 
warrior  answered,  “ they  are  here.” 

“ Good,”  Natah  Otann  continued, 
“ let  my  brothers  open  their  ears  to 
hear  the  words  the  Great  Spirit  breathes 
unto  me  : the  Long  Knives  are  pro- 
tected by  the  She-wolf : our  efforts 
would  be  useless,  and  my  sons  would 
not  succeed  in  conquering  them.  I will 
make  a great  medicine  to  break  the 
charm  of  the  She-wolf  when  we  return 
to  our  village,  but  till  then  we  must  be 
very  cunning  to  deceive  the  She-wolf, 
And  prevent  her  being  on  her  guard. 

► Will  my  sons  follow  the  advice  of  an 
experienced  chief?” 

“ Let  my  father  utter  his  thoughts,” 
a warrior  answered,  in  the  name  of  all, 
“ he  is  very  wise  : we  will  do  what  h > 
wishes : he  will  deceive  the  She-wolf 
better  than  we  can.” 

“Good  ; my  sons  have  spoken  well. 
This  is  what  we  will  do:  We  will  re- 
turn to  the  camp  of  the  pale  faces,  and 
will  restore  them  their  beasts:  the  pale 
faces,  deceived  by  this  friendly  conduct, 
will  no  longer  suspect  us.  When  we 
have  made  the  great  medicine,  we  will 
then  seize  their  camp  and  all  it  contains, 
and  the  Lying  She-wolf  will  be  unanlc 


60 


THE  FLOWER  OF  TIIE  PRAIRIE. 


to  defend  them.  I have  spoken  ; what 
do  my  sons  think  ?” 

“ My  father  is  very  crafty,”  the  war- 
rior replied,  “ what  he  has  said  is  very 
good,  his  sons  will  perform  it.” 

Natah  Otann  cast  a glance  of  triumph 
at  the  Count  de  Beaulieu,  who  admired 
the  skill  with  which  the  chief,  while  ap- 
pearing to  reprimand  the  Indians  for  the 
ill  success  of  their  enterprise,  and  evinc- 
ing the  greatest  wrath  against  the 
Americans,  had  succeeded  in  a few 
minutes  in  inducing  them  to  carr}  out 
his  secret  wishes. 

“ Oh  ! oh  !”  the  Count  murmured, 
aside,  “ this  Indian  is  no  common  man, 
he  deserves  studying.” 

Still,  a moment  of  tumult  had  fol- 
lowed the  chief’s  words.  The  Black- 
feet,  recovered  from  the  panic  and  ter- 
ror which  had  made  them  fly  with  the 
feet  of  gazelles,  to  escape  speedily  from 
the  ruined  camp,  where  they  had  expe- 
rienced so  rude  a defeat,  had  got  off 
their  horses,  and  were  engaged,  some  in 
laying  on  their  wounds  chewed  leaves 
of  the  organo,  others  in  collecting  the 
cattle  and  horses  which  they  had  stolen 
from  the  pale  faces,  and  which  were 
scattered  about. 

“ Who  is  this  Lying  She- Wolf  of  the 
Prairies,  who  inspires  such  horror  in 
these  men  V9  the  Count  asked  Bright- 
eye. 

“ No  one  knows  her,”  the  hunter  an- 
swered, in  a low  voice,  “ she  is  a woman 
whose  mysterious  life  has  hitherto  foiled 
the  most  careful  attempts  at  investiga- 
tion ; she  does  no  harm  to  any  but  the 
Indians,  whose  implacable  foe  she  ap- 
pears to  be;  the  redskins  affirm  that 
she  is  invulnerable,  that  bullets  and  ar- 
rows rebound  from  her  without  doing 
her  any  injury.  I have  often  seen  her, 
though  I have  no  opportunity  of  speak 
mg  with  her.  I believe  her  to  be  mad, 
for  1 have  seen  her  perform  some  of 
he  wildest  freaks  at  some  moments, 
though  at  others  she  appears  in  full 
possession  of  her  senses  ; in  a word  she 
is  an  incomprehensible  being,  who  leads 
an  extraordinary  life  in  the  heart  of  the 
prairies.” 

“ Is  she  alone  V9 
“Always.”  * 

“ You  excite  my  curiosity  to  the  high- 


est degree,”  the  Count  said  ; “ no  one,  I 
suppose,  could  give  me  any  information 
about  this  woman  V9 

“ One  person  could  do  so,  if  he  cared 
to  speak.” 

“ Who’s  that?” 

“ Natah  Otann,”  the  hunter  said  in  a 
low  voice. 

“ That  is  strange,”  the  Count  mut- 
tered, “ what  can  there  be  in  common 
between  him  and  this  woman  ?” 

Br  ghteye  only  answered  by  a signi- 
ficant glance. 

The  conversation  was  broken  off,  and 
at  the  chief’s  order  the  Blackfeet  re- 
mounted their  horses. 

“ Forward  1”  Natah  Otann  said,  tak- 
ing the  head  of  the  column  again  with 
the  Count  an  1 his  companions. 

The  whole  troop  set  out  at  a gallop  in 
the  direction  of  the  American  camp, 
taking  the  cattle  in  their  midst. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  EXILE. 

We  are  compelled,  for  the  proper 
comprehension  of  the  facts  that  will  fol- 
low, to  break  off  our  story  for  a mo- 
ment, in  order  to  describe  a strange  ad- 
venture which  happened  on  the  West- 
ern Prairies  some  thirty  odd  years  be- 
fore our  story  opens. 

The  Indians,  whom  people  insist  so 
wrongly,  in  our  opinion,  in  regarding 
as  savages,  have  certain  customs  which 
display  a thorough  knowledge  of  the  hu- 
man heart.  The  Comanches,  who  ap- 
pear to  remember  that  in  old  times 
they  enjoyed  a far  advanced  civilization, 
have  retained  the  largest  amount  of 
those  customs  which  are,  certainly, 
stamped  with  originality. 

One  day  in  the  month  of  February, 
which  they  call  “ the  Moon  of  the  Arriv- 
ing Eagles,”  and  in  the  year  1795  or 
1796,  a village  of  the  Red  Cow  tribe 
was  in  a state  of  extraordinary  agita- 
tion. The  hachesto,  or  public  speaker, 
mounted  on  the  roof  of  a lodge,  sum- 
moned the  warriors  for  the  seventh 
hour  of  the  day  to  the  village  square, 
near  the  ark  of  the  first  man,  where  a 


TIIE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


Cl 


grand  council  would  be  held.  The 
warriors  asked  each  other  in  vain  the 
purport  of  this  unforeseen  meeting,  but 
no  one  could  tell  them  ; the  hachesto 
himself  was  ignorant,  and  they  were 
obliged  to  await  the  hour  of  assembling 
although  the  comments  and  supposi- 
tions still  went  on  to  a great  extent. 

The  redskins,  whom  badly  informed 
authors  represent  to  us  as  cold,  silent 
men,  are,  on  the  contrary,  very  gay, 
and  remarkable  gossips  when  they  get 
together.  What  ha*s  caused  the  contra- 
ry supposition  is,  that  in  their  relations 
with  white  men  the  Indians  are,  in  the 
first  place,  checked  by  the  difficulties  of 
the  language — equally  insurmountable, 
by  the  way,  for  both  parties — and  next 
by  the  distrust  which  every  American 
native  feels  toward  Europeans,  whoever 
they  may  be,  owing  to  the  inveterate 
hatred  that  separates  the  two  races. 

During  our  lengthened  residence 
among  Indian  tribes  we  often  had  op- 
portunities for  noticing  what  mistakes 
are  made  with  respect  to  the  redskins. 
During  their  long  evening  gossips  in 
the  villages,  or  the  hunting  expeditions, 
there  was  a rolling  fire  of  jokes  and 
witticisms,  often  lasting  whole  hours,  to 
the  great  delight  of  the  audience,  who 
laughed  that  hearty  Indian  laugh,  with- 
out care  or  afterthought,  which  cleaves 
the  mouth  to  the  ears,  and  draws  tears 
of  delight — a laugh  which,  for  metallic 
resonance,  can  only  be  compared  with 
that  of  negroes,  though  the  former  is 
far  more  spiritual  than  the  Litter,  whose 
notes  have  ever  something  bestial  about 
them. 

Toward  the  decline  of  day,  the  hour 
selected  for  the  meeting,  the  village 
square  presented  a most  animated  ap- 
pearance. The  warriors,  women,  chil- 
dren and  dogs,  those  inseparable  guests 
of  the  redskins,  pressed  round  a large 
circle  left  empty  in  the  centre  for  the 
council  fire,  near  which,  the  principal 
chiefs  of  the  nation  crouched  ceremoni- 
ously. At  a sign  from  an  old  sachem, 
whose  hair,  white  as  silver,  fell  in  a 
cloud  on  his  shoulders,  the  pipe  bearer 
brought  in  the  great  calumet,  the  stem 
of  which  he  presented  to  each  chief  in 
turn,  while  holding  the  bowl  in  the 
palm  of  his  hand.  When  all  the  chiefs 


had  smoked,  the  pipebearer  turned  the 
calumet  to  the  four  cardinal  points, 
while  murmuring  mysterious  words 
which  no  one  heard;  then  he  emptied 
the  ashes  into  the  fire,  saying  aloud  : — - 

“Chiefs,  warriors,  women  and  chil- 
dren of  the  Red  Cow,  your  sachems  are 
assembled  to  judge  a very  grave  ques- 
tion ; pray  to  the  Master  of  Life  to  in- 
spire them  with  wise  words.” 

Then  the  pipebearer,  after  bowing 
respectfully  to  the  chiefs,  withdrew, 
taking  the  calumet  with  him.  The 
council  began,  and,  at  a sign  from  the 
aged  sachem,  a chief  rose  and  bowing 
took  the  word : 

“ Venerated  sachems,  chiefs  and  war- 
riors of  my  nation,”  he  said  in  a loud 
voice,  “ the  mission  with  which  I am 
entrusted  is  painful  to  my  heart ; listen 
to  me  indulgently,  be  not  governed  by 
passion ; but  let  justice  alone  preside 
over  the  severe  decree  which  you  will, 
perhaps  be  compelled  to  pronounce. 
The  mission  which  I am  entrusted  with 
is  painful,  I repeat ; it  fills  my  heart 
with  sadness ; I am  compelled  to  ac- 
cuse before  you  two  renowned  chiefs 
belonging  to  two  illustrious  families, 
who  have,  with  equal  claims,  deserved 
well  of  the  nation  on  many  occasions 
by  rendering  it  signal  services ; these 
chiefs,  as  I must  name  them  before  you, 
are  the  Bounding  Panther,  and  the 
Sparrow-Hawk.” 

On  hearing  these  names,  so  well- 
known  and  justly  esteemed,  pronounced, 
a shudder  of  astonishment  and  pain  ran 
through  the  crowd.  But,  at  a sign  from 
the  oldest  chief,  silence  was  almost  im- 
mediately re-established, and  the  chief 
continued  : 

“ How  is  it  that  a cloud  has  suddenly 
passed  over  the  mind  of  these  two  war- 
riors, and  tarnished  their  intellect  to 
such  an  extent,  that  these  two  men,  who 
so  long  loved  one  another  as  brothers, 
whose  friendship  was  cited  among  the 
nation,  have  suddenly  become  implac- 
able enemies,  so  that,  when  they  see 
each  other,  their  eyes  flash  lightning, and 
their  hands  seek  their  weapons  to  com- 
mit murder  ? No  one  can  say  ; no  one 
knows  it.  These  chiefs,  when  interro- 
gated by  the  sachems,  maintained  an 
obstinate  silence,  instead  of  revealing 


62 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRATRTE. 


the  causes  of  their  cruel  enmity,  which 
brings  trouble  and  desolation  on  the 
tribe.  Such  a scandal  must  not  last 
longer ; tolerating  it  would  be  giving  a 
pernicious  example  to  our  children ! 
Sachems,  chiefs,  and  warriors,  in  the 
name  of  justice,  I demand  that  these  ir- 
reconcilable enemies  should  be  eternally 
’ banished  from  the  tribe  this  very  even- 
ing at  sunset.  I have  spoken.  Have  I 
said  well,  powerful  men  V ’ 

The  chief  sat  down  amid  a mournful 
silence  in  this  assembly  of  nearly  two 
thousand  people;  the  beating  of  their 
sorrow-laden  hearts  might  almost  be 
heard,  such  sustained  attention  did  each 
one  give  to  the  words  pronounced  in  the 
council. 

“ Has  any  chief  any  observation  to 
offer  on  the  accusation  which  has  just 
been  brought?”  the  old  sachem  said,  in 
a weak  voice,  which  was,  however,  per- 
fectly heard  in  every  part  of  the  square. 
A member  of  the  council  rose. 

“ 1 take  the  word,”  he  said,  “ not  to 
refute  Tigercat’s  accusation,  for  unfor- 
tunately all  he  has  said  is  most  scrupu- 
lously correct;  far  from  exaggerating 
facts,  he  has,  with  that  goodness  and 
wisdom  which  reside  in  him,  weakened 
the  odiousness  of  that  hatred.  The 
chiefs  are  guilty,  that  is  only  too  fully 
proved  : a longer  discussion  on  that 
point  would  be  tedious ; but,  as  Tiger- 
cat  himself  told  us,  with  that  loyalty 
which  distinguishes  him,  these  two  men 
are  renowned  chiefs,  chosen  warriors, 
and  they  have  rendered  the  nation  sig- 
nal services.  We  all  love  and  cherish 
them  for  different  reasons;  let  us  be 
severe,  but  not  cruel ; let  us  not  drive 
them  from  among  us  as  unclean. crea- 
tures; before  striking,  let  us  make  one 
more  attempt  to  reconcile  them.  This 
last  step,  taken  in  the  presence  of  the 
whole  nation,  will,  doubtlessly,  touch 
their  heaits,  and  we  shall  have  the  hap- 
piness of  keeping  two  illustrious  chiefs. 
Jf  they  remain  deaf  to  our  prayers,  if 
our  observations  do  not  obtain  the  suc- 
cess we  desire,  then,  as  the  case  will  be 
without  a remedy,  let  us  be  implacable, 
put  an  end  to  L is  scandal  which  has 
lasted  too  long,  and,  as  Tigercat  asked, 
drive  them  forever  from  our  nation 


which  they  dishonor.  T have  spoken. 
Have  I said  well,  powerful  men?” 

Afier  bowing  to  the  sachems,  the 
chief  resumed  his  seat  in  the  midst  of  a 
murmur  of  satisfaction,  produced  by  his 
hearty  language.  Although  these  two 
speeches  were  contained  in  the  pro- 
gramme of  the  ceremony,  and  every  one 
knew  what  the  result  of  the  meet’ng 
would  be,  the  unreconciled  chief,  had 
so  much  sympathy  among  the  nation, 
that  many  persons  still  hoped  they  would 
be  reconciled  at  the  last  moment,  when 
they  saw  themselves  on  the  point  of 
being  banished.  The  strangest  thing 
connected  with  the  hatred  between  the 
two  men  was,  that  the  reason  of  it  was 
completely  unknown,  and  no  one  knew 
how  to  account  for  it.  When  silence 
was  restored,  the  oldest  sachem,  after  a 
consultation  with  his  colleagues  in  a low 
voice,  took  the  word. 

“ Let  the  Bounding  Panther  and  the 
Sparrow-hawk  be  introduced  to  our  pre- 
sence.” 

At  the  two  opposite  corners  of  the 
square,  the  crowd  parted  like  over-ripe 
fruit,  and  left  a passage  for  a small 
band  of  warriors,  in  the  centre  of  whicn 
the  two  accused  men  walked.  When 
they  met,  they  remained  perfectly  calm, 
a slight  arching  of  the  eyebrows  being 
the  only  sign  of  emotion  they  displayed. 
They  were  each  about  twenty-five  years 
of  age,  well  built,  and  active,  and  of 
martial  aspect.  They  wore  their  grand 
costume  and  war  paint,  but  their  wea- 
pons were  carried  by  their  respective 
friends.  They  presented  themselves 
before  the  council  with  great  respect 
and  modesty,  which  the  assembly  ap- 
proved of  heartily.  After  looking  at 
them  with  a glance  at  once  sorrowful 
and  benevolent,  the  eldest  sachem  rose 
with  an  effort,  and,  supported  by  two 
of  his  colleagues,  who  held  him  under 
the  arms,  he  at  length  spoke  in  a weak 
voice. 

“ Warriors,  my  beloved  children,”  he 
said,  “ from  the  spot  where  you  stood, 
you  heard  the  accusation  brought  against 
you.  What  have  you  to  say  in  your 
defence?  Are  those  words  true?  do 
you  really  entertain  this  irreconcilable 
hatred  to  each  other?  Speak.” 


TIIE  FLO  AVER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


63 


The  two  chiefs  bowed  their  heads 
silently.  The  sachem  continued  : 

“ My  cherished  children,  I was  already 
very  old  when  your  mother,  a child, 
whose  birth  I also  saw,  br. <ught  you  into 
the  world.  1 was  the  first  to  teach  you 
the  use  of  those  weapons,  which  later 
became  so  terrible  in  your  vigorous 
hands.  Now  that  I am  about  to  sleep 
the  eternal  sleep,  only  to  wake  again  in 
the  happy  hunting  grounds,  give  me  a 
supreme  consolation  which  will  make 
me  the  happiest  of  men,  and  repay  me 
for  all  the  sorrow  you  have  caused  me. 
Come,  children,  you  are  young  and  ad- 
venturous, love  alone  ought  to  find  a 
place  in  your  hearts ; hatred  is  a pas- 
sion belonging  to  a ripe  age,  it  does  not 
become  youth.  Offer  one  another  those 
honest  hands,  embrace,  like  the  two 
brothers  you  are,  and  let  all  be  eternally 
forgotten  between  you.  I implore  you, 
my  children ; you  cannot  resist  the 
prayers  of  an  old  man  so  near  the  tomb 
as  1 am.” 

There  was  a moment  of  supreme 
anxiety  in  the  crowd;  all  waited  with 
panting  hearts  for  what  was  about  to 
happen.  The  two  chiefs  directed  a ten- 
der glance  at  the  old  sachem,  who  re- 
garded them  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  then 
turned  towards  each  other;  their  lips 
trembled,  as  if  they  wished  to  speak ; a 
nervous  tremor  agitated  their  bodies, 
but  no  sound  passed  their  lips  ; their 
arms  remained  inert  by  their  sides. 

“Answer,”  the  old  man  continued, 
“yes  or  no.  You  must;  I command 
it.” 

“No,”  they  replied  together,  in  a 
hoarse  though  firm  voice. 

The  sachem  drew  himself  up. 

“ It  is  well !”  he  said.  “ As  no  gene- 
rous feeling  remains  in  your  hearts,  as 
hatred  has  eaten  them  up  entirely,  and 
you  are  no  longer  men  but  monsters, 
listen  to  the  irrevocable  sentence  which 
your  sachems,  your  equals.  your  rela- 
tions and  friends,  pronounce  upon  you. 
The  nation  rejects  you  from  its  bosom ; 
you  are  no  longer  children  of  our  tribe. 
Fire  and  water  are  refused  you  on  the 
hunting  ground  of  your  nation  ; we  no 
longer  know  you.  Chiefs  who  answer 
for  you  with  their  heads  will  lead  you 
twenty-five  leagues  from  the  village  ; 


you,  Bounding  Panther,  in  a southern? 
and  you,  Sparrowhawk,  in  a northern? 
direction.  You  are  forbidden,  under 
penalty  of  death,  ever  to  set  your  foot 
again  on  the  territory  of  your  nation  ; 
each  of  you  will  take  one  of  these  ar- 
rows, painted  of  divers  colors,  which 
will  serve  as  a passport  with  the  tribes 
through  which  you  p iss.  Seek  a nation 
to  adopt  you,  for  henceforth  you  have 
neither  country  nor  family.  Go,  ac- 
cursed ones!  these  arrows  are  the  last 
presents  you  will  receive  from  your 
brothers.  Go,  and  may  the  Master  of 
Life  soften  your  tiger  hearts ! As  for 
us,  we  know  you  no  more.  1 have 
spoken.  Have  I said  well,  powerful 
men  ?” 

The  old  man  sat  down  again  in  the 
midst  of  general  emotion;  he  veiled 
his  face  with  the  skirt  of  his  buffalo 
robe,  and  wept.  The  two  chiefs  tottered 
away  like  drunken  men,  led  to  opposite 
corners  of  the  square  by  their  friends. 
They  passed  by  the  ranks  of  their  coun- 
trymen, bowed  down  by  the  maledic- 
tions showered  on  them  as  they  passed. 

At  the  extremity  of  the  village,  hor- 
ses were  awaiting  them.  They  galloped 
off,  still  followed  by  their  escort.  When 
each  arrived  at  the  spot  where  he  was 
to  be  left,  the  warriors  dismounted, 
threw  their  arms  on  the  ground,  and 
went  off  at  full  speed.  Not  a word  had 
been  uttered  during  the  long  ride,  which 
lasted  fourteen  hours. 

We  will  follow  the  Sparrowhawk  ; 
as  for  the  Bounding  Panther,  no  one 
ever  knew  what  became  of  him  ; his 
traces  were  so  completely  lost,  that  it 
was  impossible  to  find  them  again.  The 
Sparrowhawk  was  a man  of  tried  cou- 
rage and  energy  ; still  finding  himself 
alone,  abandoned  by  all  those  he  had 
loved,  a momentary  feeling  of  discour- 
agement and  cold  rage  almost  turned 
him  mad.  But  his  pride  soon  revolted, 
he  wrestled  with  his  sorrow,  and  after 
allowing  his  horse  to  take  his  necessary 
rest,  he  set  out  boldly. 

He  wandered  about  at  hazard  for 
man)  a month,  following  no  precise  di- 
rection, living  by  the  chase,  caring  little 
where  he  stopped,  or  the  people  with 
whom  chance  brought  him  in  contact. 
One  day,  after  a long  and  perilous  chase 


64 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


after  an  elk,  which  by  a species  of  fa- 
tality he  could  not  catch  up,  he  sudden- 
ly found  himself  before  a dead  horse. 
He  looked  around  him  ; no  great  dis- 
tance off  lay  a sword,  near  which  was  a 
corpse,  easily  recognized  as  that  of  an 
European  by  the  dress. 

Sparrowhawk  felt  his  curiosity  excit- 
ed ; with  that  sagacity  peculiar  to  the 
Indians,  he  began  ferreting  about  in 
every  direction.  His  search  was  almost 
immediately  crowned  with  success;  he 
saw,  at  the  foot  of  a tree,  an  old  man 
with  greyish  hair  and  wild  beard,  dress- 
ed in  tattered  clothes  and  lying  motion- 
less. The  Indian  quickly  went  up  to 
examine  the  condition  of  the  stranger, 
and  try  to  restore  him,  if  he  were  not 
dead.  The  first  thing  Sparrowhawk 
did  was  to  lay  his  hand  on  the  heart  of 
the  man  he  wished  to  succor.  The 
heart  beat,  but  so  feebly,  it  seemed  as 
if  it  must  soon  stop.  Ail  the  Indians 
are  to  a certain  extent  doctors,  that  is 
to  say,  they  possess  a knowledge  of  cer- 
tain plants,  by  means  of  which  they 
often  effect  really  wonderful  cures. 

While  trying  to  restore  the  stranger, 
the  Indian  examined  him  attentively. 
Though  his  hair  was  beginning  to  turn 
grey,  the  man  was  still  young,  not 
more  than  forty  to  forty-five  ; he  was 
tall  and  well  built ; his  forehead  was 
wide  and  high  ; his  nose  aquiline;  his 
mouth  large,  and  his  chin  square.  His 
clothes,  though  in  rags,  were  well  cut 
and  made  of  a fine  cloth,  which  plainly 
showed  that  he  must  belong  to  a better 
class  of  society — the  reader  will  un- 
derstand that  these  delicate  distinctions 
eseaped  the  notice  of  the  Indian — he 
only  saw  a man  of  intelligent  appear- 
ance, and  on  the  point  of  death  ; and 
though  he  belonged  to  the  white  race, 
a race  which,  like  all  his  countrymen, 
he  detested,  and  for  good  reasons — at 
the  sight  of  such  distress,  he  forgot  his 
antipathy,  and  only  thought  of  helping 
him. 

Near  the  stranger  there  lay,  in  con- 
fusion on  the  grass,  a surgeon’s  pocket- 
book,  a brace  of  pistols,  a gun,  a sabre, 
and  an  open-book.  For  a long  time 
SSparrowhaw  k’s  efforts  met  with  no  suc- 
cess, and  he  was  despairing  whether  he 
could  raise  the  dying  man  to  life,  when 


a transient  glow  suffused  his  face,  and 
his  heart  began  beating  more  quickly 
and  strongly.  Sparrowhawk  made  a 
gesture  of  delight  at  this  unexpected 
success.  It  was  almost  incredible  ! This 
warrior,  whose  whole  life  had  been 
hitherto  spent  in  waging  war  of  ambu>h- 
es  and  surprises  with  the  whites,  and 
committing  the  most  refined  cruelties 
on  the  unhappy  Spaniards  who  fell  into 
his  hands,  now  rejoiced  at  recalling  to 
life  this  individual  who,  to  him,  was  a 
natural  enemy. 

In  a few  minutes  the  stranger  slowly 
opened  his  eyes,  but  he  closed  them 
again  at  once,  as  the  light  probably 
dazzled  them.  Sparrowhawk  did  not 
lose  heart,  and  resolved  to  carry  out  a 
good  work  so  well  begun.  His  expec- 
tations were  not  deceived  ; the  stranger 
presently  opened  his  eyes  again  ; and 
he  made  an  effort  to  rise,  but  was  too 
weak,  his  strength  failed  him,  and  he 
fell  back  again.  The  Indian  then  gent- 
ly supported  him,  seating  him  against 
the  trunk  of  the  catalpa,  at  whose  foot 
he  had  been  hitherto  lying.  The  stran- 
ger thanked  him  by  a sign,  muttering 
one  word,  biber  (drink.) 

The  Comanches,  whose  life  is  passed 
in  periodical  excursions  into  the  Span- 
ish territory,  know  a few  words  of  that 
language.  Sparrowhawk  spoke  it  rath- 
er fluently.  He  seized  the  gourd  hang- 
ing to  his  saddle  bow,  and  which  he 
had  filled  two  hours  before,  and  put  it 
to  the  stranger's  lips ; so  soon  as  he 
had  tasted  the  water,  he  began  swallow- 
ing it  in  heavy  gulps.  But  the  Indian, 
fearing  an  accident,  soon  took  the  gourd 
from  his  lips. 

The  stranger  wished  to  drink  again. 

“ No,”  he  said,  “ my  father  is  too 
weak,  he  must  eat  something  first.” 

The  stranger  smiled,  and  pressed  his 
hand.  The  Indian  rose  joyfully  ; took 
from  his  provision  bag  some  fruit  and 
handed  it  to  the  man.  Through  these 
attentions  the  stranger  was  sufficiently 
recovered  within  an  hour  to  get  up. 
He  then  explained  to  Sparrowhawk,  in 
bad  Spanish,  that  he  and  one  of  his 
friends  were  travelling  together,  that 
their  horses  died  of  fatigue,  while  them- 
selves could  procure  nothing  to  eat  or 
drink  in  the  desert.  The  result  was, 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


65 


that  his  friend  died  in  his  arms  only  the 
previous  day,  after  frightful  suffering, 
and  he  should  have  probably  shared 
the  same  fate,  had  not  his  lucky  star,  or 
rather  Providence,  sent  him  help. 

“ Good,”  the  Indian  replied,  when  the 
stranger  ended  his  narrative,  “ my  fath- 
er is  now  strong,  1 will  lasso  a horse, 
’aid  lead  him  to  the  first  habitation  of 
tie  men  of  his  own  color.” 

At  this  proposition,  the  stranger 
frowned  ; a look  of  hatred  and  haughty 
contempt  was  legible  on  his  face. 

“ No,”  he  said  ; “ I will  not  return 
to  the  men  of  my  color,  they  have  re- 
jected and  persecuted  me,  I wish  to  live 
henceforward  in  the  desert.” 

“ Wah  !”  the  Indian  exclaimed,  in 
surprise,  “ has  my  father  no  nation  ?” 
“No,”  he  answered,  “1  am  alone, 
without  country,  relatives,  or  friends  ; 
the  sight  of  a man  of  my  color  excites 
me  to  hatred  and  contempt ; all  are  un- 
grateful, I will  live  far  from  them.” 

“ Good,”  the  Indian  said,  “ 1,  too,  am 
rejected  by  my  nation,  I,  too,  am  alone, 
1 will  remain  with  my  father  and  be  his 
son.” 

“What!”  the  stranger  ejaculated, 
fancying  he  had  misunderstood  him,  “ is 
it  possible  1 does  banishment  also  exist 
among  your  wandering  tribes  1 you, 
like  myself,  are  abandoned  by  those  of 
your  race  and  blood,  and  condemned  to 
remain  alone — alone  forever  ?” 

“Yes,”  Sparrowhawk  said,  sorrow- 
fully, bowing  his  head. 

“ Oh  !”  the  stranger  said,  directing  a 
glance  of  strange  meaning  toward  heav- 
en, “ oh,  men  ! they  are  the  same  every- 
where, cruel,  unnatural  and  heartless  !” 
He  walked  about  for  a few  moments, 
muttering  certain  words  in  a language 
the  Indian  did  not  understand  ; then  he 
returned  quickly  to  him,  and  pressing 
his  hand,  said,  with  feverish  energy  : 

“ Well,  then,  I accept  your  proposi- 
tion ; our  fate  is  the  same,  and  we  ought 
not  to  separate  again.  Victims  both  of 
the  spite  of  man,  we  will  live  together  ; 
you  have  saved  my  life,  Redskin  ; at 
the  first  impulse  I was  vexed  at  it,  but 
now  I thank  Providence,  as  I can  still 
do  good,  and  force  men  to  blush  at  their 
ingratitude.” 

This  speech  was  too  full  of  philo- 


sophic precepts  for  Sparrowhawk  thor- 
oughly to  understand  it  ; still,  he 
caught  its  sense,  that  was  enough  for 
him,  as  he  was  too  glad  to  find  in  his 
companion  a man  afflicted  by  similar 
misfortunes  to  his  own. 

“ Let  my  father  open  his  ears,”  he 
said,  “ he  will  remain  here  while  I go 
and  find  a horse  for  him,  there  are  many 
manadas  in  the  neighborhood,  and  l 
shall  so<>n  have  what  we  want  ; my  fa- 
ther will  be  patient  during  Sparrow- 
hawk’s  absence,  I will  leave  him  food 
and  drink.” 

“ Go  !”  the  stranger  said,  and  two 
hours  later  the  Indian  returned  with  a 
magnificent  steed. 

Several  days  were  then  spent  in  vag- 
abond marches,  though  each  took  them 
deeper  into  the  desert.  The  stranger 
seemed  afraid  of  meeting  white  men  ; 
but  with  the  exception  of  the  story  he 
had  told  of  his  narrow  escape  from 
death,  he  maintained  an  obstinate  si- 
lence as  to  his  past  life.  The  Indian 
knew  not  then  who  he  was,  nor  why  he 
had  ventured  so  far  into  the  desert  at 
the  risk  of  perishing.  E ich  time  Spar- 
rowhawk asked  him  any  details  about 
his  life  he  tnrned  the  conversation,  and 
that  so  adroitly,  that  the  Indian  could 
never  bring  him  back  to  the  starting 
point.  One  day,  as  they  were  r mbling 
along  side  by  side,  talking,  Sparrow- 
hawk,  who  was  rather  vexed  at  the 
slight  confidence  the  stranger  placed  in 
him,  asked  categorically  : 

“ My  father  was  a great  chief  in  his 
nation  V ’ 

The  stranger  smiled  sorrowfully. 

“ Perhaps,”  he  answered,  “ but  now 
I am  nothing.” 

“ My  father  is  mistaken,”  the  Indian 
said,  seriously,  “ the  warriors  of  his 
nation  may  not  have  valued  him,  but 
he  still  remains  the  same.” 

“ All  that  is  smoke,”  the  stranger  re- 
plied. 

“ The  love  of  country  is  the  greatest 
and  noblest  pass  on  the  Master  of  Life 
has  placed  in  the  heart  of  man,  my  fa- 
ther has  a revered  name  among  his  peo- 
ple.” 

The  stranger  frowned,  and  his  fice 
assumed  an  expression  the  Indian  had 
never  seen  before. 


66 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


“ My  name  is  a curse,”  he  said,  “ no 
one  will  hear  it  uttered  again  : it  has 
been  like  a b and  seared  on  my  fore- 
head by  the  partisans  of  the  man  whom 
1,  humble  as  I am,  helped  to  over- 
throw.” 

Sparrowhawk  made  a gesture  of  su- 
preme disdain. 

“The  chief  of  the  nation  must  re- 
turn to  his  warriors  : if  he  betrays 
them,  they  are  masters  of  his  scalp,”  he 
said,  in  a firm  voice. 

The  stranger,  surprised  at  being  so 
well  understood  by  this  primitive  man, 
smiled  proudly. 

“ In  demanding  his  head,”  he  said,  “ I 
staked  my  own  I wished  to  save  my 
country.  Who  can  blame  me  I” 

“ No  one,”  Sparrowhawk  replied, 
quickly,  “ every  warrior  must  die.” 
There  was  a lengthened  silence;  Spar- 
rowhawk was  the  first  to  break  it. 

“ We  are  destined,”  he  said,  “to  live 
long  days  together,  my  father  wishes 
his  name  to  remain  unknown,  and  I will 
not  insist  on  knowing  it  ; still,  we  can- 
not wander  about  at  hazard,  we  must 
find  a tribe  to  adopt  us,  men  to  recog- 
nize us  as  brothers.” 

“ For  what  purpose 
“ To  be  strong  and  everywhere  re- 
spected ; we  owe  it  to  our  brothers,  as 
they  owe  it  to  us  ; life  is  only  a loan 
w hich  the  Master  of  Life  makes  us,  on 
the  condition  that  it  is  profitable  to 
those  who  surround  us.  By  what  name 
shall  I present  my  father  to  the  men 
from  whom  we  may  ask  asylum  and 
protection.” 

“ By  any  you  please,  my  son  ; as  I 
am  no  longer  to  bear  my  own,  any  oth- 
er is  a matter  of  indifference  to  me.” 
Sparrowhawk  reflected  for  an  instant. 
“ My  father  is  strong,”  he  said,  “ his 
scalp  is  beginning  to  resemble  the  snows 
of  winter,  he  will  henceforth  be  called 
the  White  Buffalo.” 

“The  White  Buffalo,  be  it  so,”  the 
stranger  answered,  with  a sigh,  “ that 
name  is  as  good  as  another ; perhaps  1 
shall  thus  escape  the  weapons  of  those 
who  have  sworn  my  death.” 

The  Indian,  charmed  at  knowing  how 
henceforth  to  call  his  friend,  then  said 
to  him  joyfully  : 

“ In  a few  days  we  shall  reach  a vil- 


lage of  Blood  Indians  or  Kenhas,  where 
we  shall  be  received  as  if  we  were  sorlS 
of  the  nation  ; my  father  is  wise,  I am 
strong,  the  K<  nhas  will  be  happy  to  re- 
ceive us  ; courage,  old  father  ! this 
country  of  adoption  will  be,  perhaps, 
worth  your  own.” 

“ France,  farewell  !”  the  stranger  ut- 
tered, in  a choking  voice. 

Four  days  later  they  reached  the  vil- 
lage of  the  Kenhas,  where  a friendly 
reception  was  given  them. 

“ Well  ?”  Sparrowhawk  said  to  his 
companion,  after  they  had  been  adopted 
according  to  all  the  Indian  rites,  “ what 
does  my  father  think  1 is  he  happy 

“ I fancy,”  the  other  said,  with  a mel- 
ancholy air,  “ that  nothing  can  restore 
the  exile  the  country  he  has  lost.” 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  MESSAGE. 

Days,  months,  years,  passed  away  ; 
the  White  Buffalo  seemed  to  have  com- 
pletely renounced  that  country  which 
he  was  forbidden  ever  to  see  again.  He 
had  completely  adopted  Indian  customs, 
and,  through  his  wisdom,  had  so  thor- 
oughly acquired  the  esteem  and  respect 
of  the  Ken  ha  nation,  that  he  was  count- 
ed among  the  most  revered  sachems. 

Sparrowhawk,  after  giving  on  many 
occasions  undeniable  proofs  of  his  cou- 
rage and  military  talents,  had  gained 
also  a firm  and  honorable  place  in  the 
nation.  If  an  experienced  chief  were 
required  for  a dangerous  expedition,  he 
was  ever  selected  by  the  council  of  the 
sachems,  for  they  knew  that  success 
constantly  crowned  his  enterprises. 
Sparrowhawk  was  a man  of  clear  mind, 
who  at  once  understood  the  intellectual 
value  of  his  European  friend  ; obedient 
to  the  old  man’s  lessons,  having  taken 
his  advice,  and  always  followed  his 
counsels  : hence  he  speedily  began  reap- 
ing the  advantage  of  his  skilful  conduct. 
Thus,  when  he  two  years  later  married 
a Kenha  girl,  and  when  his  wife  made 
him  father  of  a boy,  he  took  him  in  his 
arms,  and  presented  him  to  the  old 
man,  saying  with  great  emotion  : 


THE  FLOWER  OF  TIIE  PRAIRTE. 


67 


“The  White  Buffalo  sees  this  war- 
rior, he  is  his  son,  my  father  will  make 
a man  of  him.” 

When  the  child  was  weaned,  the  fath- 
er kept  the  promise  he  had  made  his 
friend  and  gave  him  his  son,  leaving 
him  at  liberty  to  educate  the  boy  as  he 
thought  fit.  The  old  man,  rejuvenated 
by  the  hope  of  this  education,  which 
gave  him  the  chance  of  making  a man 
after  his  own  heart  of  this  frail  crea- 
ture, joyfully  accepted  the  difficult  task. 
The  child  received  from  its  parents  the 
name  of  Natah  Otann,  a significant 
name,  for  it  is  that  borne  by  the  most 
dangerous  animal  of  North  America  the 
grizzly  bear. 

Natah  Otann  made  rapid  progress 
under  the  guidance  of  the  White  Buffa- 
lo. The  latter  had  a few  books  by  him 
which  enabled  him  to  give  his  pupil  a 
very  extensive  education,  and  make 
him  very  learned.  Thence  resulted  the 
strange  circumstance  of  an  Indian  who, 
while  following  exactly  the  customs  of 
his  fathers,  hunting  and  fighting  like 
them,  and  who  was  now  leading  his 
tribe,  being  at  the  same  time  a distin- 
guished man,  who  would  not  have  been 
out  of  place  in  any  European  drawing- 
room, and  whose  great  intellect  had  un- 
derstood and  appreciated  everything. 

Singularly  enough,  Natah  Otann,  on 
attaining  manhood,  far  from  despising 
his  countrymen,  brutalized  and  ignorant 
as  they  were,  felt  an  ardent  love  for 
them,  and  a violent  desire  to  regenerate 
them.  From  that  moment  his  life  had 
an  object,  which  was  the  constant  pre- 
occupation of  his  existence — to  restore 
the  Indians  to  the  rank  from  which  they 
had  fallen,  by  combining  them  into  a 
great  and  powerful  nation.  The  White 
Buffalo,  the  confidant  of  all  the  young 
chief’s  thoughts,  at  first  accepted  these 
projects  with  the  sceptical  smile  of  old 
men,  who,  having  grown  weary  of 
everything,  have  retained  no  hope  in 
the  depths  of  their  heart;  he  fancied 
that  Natah  Otann,  under  the  impression 
of  youthful  ardor,  let  himself  he  car 
ried  away  by  an  unrefl  cting  move- 
ment, whose  folly  he  would  soon  re- 
cognize. 

But  when  able  to  appreciate  how 


deeply  these  ideas  were  rooted  in  the 
young  man's  heart,  when  he  saw  him 
set  resolutely  to  work,  the  old  man 
trembled  and  was  afraid  of  his  handi- 
work. lie  asked  himself  if  he  had 
done  well  in  acting  as  he  had  done,  in 
developing  so  fully  this  chosen  intel- 
lect, which  alone,  and  with  no  other 
support  than  its  will,  was  about  to  un- 
dertake a struggle  in  which  it  must  ine- 
vitably succumb. 

He  then  sought  to  destroy  with  his 
own  hands  the  edifice  he  had  built  with 
so  much  labor  ; he  wished  to  turn  in 
another  direction  the  ardor  that  devour- 
ed his  pupil,  and  give  another  object  to 
his  life  by  changing  his  plan.  It  was 
too  late.  The  evil  was  irremediable. 
Natah  Otann,  on  seeing  his  master  thus 
contradict  himself,  defeated  him  with 
his  own  weapons,  and  obliged  him  to 
bow  his  head  before  the  merciless  blows 
of  that  logic  he  had  himself  taught  his 
pupil. 

Natah  Otann  was  a strange  compo- 
site of  good  and  evil ; in  him  all  was  in 
extreme.  At  times  the  most  noble 
feelings  seemed  to  reside  in  him ; he 
was  good  and  generous  ; then,  suddenly 
his  ferocity  and  cruelty  attained  gigan- 
tic proportions,  which  terrified  the  In- 
dians themselves.  Still,  he  was  gener- 
ally good  and  gentle  toward  his  coun- 
trymen, who,  unaware  of  the  cause,  but 
subject  to  his  influences,  feared  him, 
and  trembled  at  a word  that  fell  from 
his  lips,  or  a simple  frown. 

The  white  men  and  especially  the 
Spaniards  and  Americans,  were  Natah 
Otann’s  implacable  enemies;  he  waged 
a merciless  war  on  them,  attacking 
them  wherever  he  could  surprise  them, 
and  killing  under  the  most  horrible  tor- 
tures, those  who  were  so  unhappy  as  to 
fall  into  his  hands.  Hence  his  reputa- 
tion on  the  prairies  was  great ; the  ter 
ror  he  inspired  was  extreme  ; several 
times  already  the  United  States  had 
tried  to  get  rid  of  this  terrible  and  im- 
placable foe ; but  all  their  plans  failed, 
and  the  Indian  chief,  bolder  and  more 
cruel  than  ever,  drew  nearer  to  the 
American  frontier,  reigned  uncontrolled 
in  the  desert  of  which  he  was  absolute 
lord,  and  at  times  went,  fire  and  sword 


63 


THE  FLOWER  OF  TIIE  PRAIRIE. 


in  hand,  to  the  very  towns  of  the  Union 
to  demand  that  tribute  which  he  claim- 
ed even  from  white  men. 

We  must  not  be  taxed  with  exagger- 
ation. All  we  here  narrate  is  scrupu- 
lously exact ; and  if  we  now  and  then 
alter  facts,  it  is  only  to  weaken  them. 
If  we  uncover  the  incognito  that  veils 
our  characters,  many  of  our  readers 
would  recognize  them  at  the  first  glance, 
and  certify  to  the  truth  of  our  state- 
ments. 

A terrible  scene  of  massacre,  of  w'hich 
Natah  Otann  was  the  originator,  had 
aroused  general  indignation  against  him. 
The  facts  are  as  follows  : 

An  American  family,  consisting  of 
father,  mother,  two  sons  of  about  twelve 
and  a little  girl  between  three  and  four 
years  of  age  and  five  servants,  left  the 
Western  States  with  the  intention  of 
working  a claim  they  had  bought  on  the 
Upper  Mississippi.  At  the  period  we  are 
writing  of,  wdiite  men  rarely  traversed 
these  districts,  which  were  entirely  left 
to  the  Indians,  who  wandered  over  them 
in  every  direction,  and,  with  a few  half- 
breed  and  Canadian  hunters  and  trap- 
pers, v’ere  the  sole  masters  of  these  vast 
solitudes.  On  leaving  the  clearings, 
their  friends  warned  the  emigrants  to 
be  on  their  guard.  They  had  been  ad- 
vised not  to  enter  into  the  desert  in  so 
small  a body,  but  awaitother  emigrants, 
who  would  soon  proceed  to  the  same 
spot ; for  a caravan  of  fifty  to  sixty  de- 
termined menmignt  passsafe  and  sound 
through  the  Indians. 

The  head  of  the  American  family 
was  an  old  soldier  of  the  war  of  Inde- 
pendence, gifted  with  heroic  courage 
and  thorough  British  obstinacy.  He 
answered  coldly  to  those  who  gave  him 
this  advice,  that  his  servants  and  him- 
self could  hold  their  own  against  all  the 
j Prairie  Indians;  for  they  had  good 
rifles  and  firm  hearts,  and  would  reach 
their  claim  in  the  face  of  all  opposition. 

Then  he  made  his  preparations  like  a 
man  whose  mind,  being  made  up,  ad- 
mits of  no  delay,  and  he  started  against 
the  judgment  of  his  friends,  who  pre- 
dicted numberless  misfortunes.  The 
first  few  days,  however,  passed  quietly 
enough,  and  nothing  happened  to  con- 
firm these  predictions.  The  Americans 


advanced  peacefully  through  a delicious 
country,  and  no  sign  revealed  the  ap- 
proach of  the  Indians,  who  seemed  to 
have  become  invisible. 

The  Americans  are  men  who  pass 
most  easily  from  extreme  prudence  to 
the  most  foolish  and  rash  confidence, 
and  on  this  occasion  were  true  to  their 
character.  When  they  saw  that  all  was 
quiet  around  them,  and  no  obstacle 
checked  their  progress,  they  began  to 
laugh  and  deride  the  apprehensions  of 
their  friends  ; they  gradually  relaxed 
in  their  vigilance,  neglected  the  precau- 
tions usual  on  the  prairie,  and  at  last 
almost  wished  to  be  attacked  by  Indians, 
to  make  them  feel  the  weight  of  their 
arms.  Things  went  on  thus  for  nearly 
two  months;  the  emigrants  were  not 
more  than  ten  days’  march  from  their 
claim  ; they  no  longer  thought  of  the 
Indians : if  at  times  they  alluded  to 
them  in  the  evening,  before  going  to 
sleep,  it  was  only  to  laugh  at  the  absurd 
fears  of  the  r friends,  who  fancied  it  im- 
possible to  take  a step  in  the  desert 
without  falling  into  an  ambuscade  of  the 
redskins. 

One  night,  after  a fatiguing  day,  the 
emigrants  went  to  bed,  after  placing 
sentries  round  the  camp,  rather  to  keep 
wild  beasts  off  than  through  any  other 
motive.  The  sentinels,  accustomed  not 
to  be  troubled,  and  fatigued  by  their 
day’s  labors,  watched  for  a few  mo- 
ments, then  their  eyelids  gradually 
sank,  and  they  fell  asleep.  Their 
awakening  wras  destined  to  be  terrible. 

About  midnight,  fifty  Blackfeet,  led 
by  Natah  Otann,  glided  like  demons  in 
the  darkness,  clambered  into  the  en- 
campment, and  ere  the  Americans  could 
seize  their  weapons,  or  even  dream  of 
defence,  they  were  bound.  Then  a hor- 
rible scene  took  place,  the  frightful  in- 
terludes of  which  the  pen  is  impotent  to 
describe.  Natah  Otann  organized  the 
massacre,  it  we  may  be  allowed  to  em- 
ploy the  term,  with  unexampled  cool- 
ness and  cruelty.  The  chief  of  the 
party  and  his  five  servants  were  strip- 
ped and  attached  to  trees,  flogged,  and 
martyrized,  while  the  two  lads  were 
literal. y roasted  alive  in  their  presence. 
The  mother,  half  mad  w’ith  terror,  es- 
caped, carrying  off  her  little  girl  in  her 


THE  FLOWER  OF  TIIE  PRAIRIE. 


69 


arm??  : buf,  after  running  a long  d is 
tance,  her  strength  failed  her,  and  she 
fell  senseless.  The  Indians  caught  her 
up  ; imagining  her  to  be  dead,  they  dis- 
dained to  scalp  her,  but  they  carried  off 
the  child,  which  she  pressed  to  her 
bosom  with  almost  herculean  strength. 
The  child  was  taken  back  to  Natah 
Otann. 

“What  shall  we  do  with  it]”  the 
warrior  asked,  who  presented  it  to  him. 

“ Into  the  fire  !”  he  replied,  laconi- 
cally. 

The  Blackfoot  calmly  prepared  to 
execute  the  pitiless  order  he  had  re- 
ceived. 

“ Stop !”  the  father  cried,  with  a 
piercing  shriek.  “ Do  not  kill  an  inno- 
cent creature  in  that  horrible  manner. 
Are  not  the  atrocious  tortures  you  in- 
flict on  us  enough  ]” 

The  Blackfoot  hesitated,  and  looked 
at  his  chief ; the  latter  reflected. 

“Stay,”  he  said,  raising  his  hand,  and 
addressing  the  emigrant;  “you  wish 
your  child  to  live  ]” 

“ Yes  !”  the  father  answered. 

“ Good,”  he  answered,  “ I will  sell 
you  her  life.” 

The  American  shuddered  at  this  pro- 
position. 

“ On  what  terms  ]”  he  asked. 

“ Listen,”  he  said,  laying  a stress  on 
every  word,  and  darting  at  him  a glance 
which  made  him  tremble  to  the  mar- 
row. “ My  conditions  are  these  : I am 
master  of  all  your  lives;  they  belong 
to  me;  I can  prolong  or  cut  them  short 
without  the  slightest  opposition  from 
you ; but,  I hardly  know  why,”  he 
added,  with  a sardonic  smile,  “ I feel 
merciful  to  day  ; your  child  shall  live. 
Still,  remember  this  : whatever  torture 
I inflict  on  you,  at  the  first  cry  you 
u'ter,  your  child  shall  be  strangled. 
You  have  it  in  your  power  to  save  her 
if  you  will.” 

“ 1 accept,”  the  other  answered. 

“ What  do  I care  for  the  most  atrocious 
torture,  so  long  as  my  child  lives]” 

A sinister  smile  played  round  the 
chiefs  lips. 

“ It  is  well,”  he  said. 

“ One  word  more.’7 

“ Speak.” 

“Grant  me  a single  favor:  let  me! 


give  a last  kiss  to  this  poor  creature.” 
“Give  him  his  child,”  the  chief  com- 
manded. 

An  ludian  presented  the  little  girl  to 
the  wretched  man.  The  innocent,  as  if 
comprehending  what  was  taking  place, 
put  her  arms  round  her  father’s  neck, 
and  burst  into  tears.  The  latter,  frisrii t- 
fully  bound  as  he  was,  could  only  be- 
stow  kisses  on  her,  into  which  his  whole 
soul  passed.  The  scene  had  something 
hideous  about  it  ; it  resembled  a 
witches’  Sabbath.  The  five  men  fas- 
tened naked  to  trees,  the  children  twist- 
ing on  the  burning  charcoal,  and  utter- 
ing piercing  cries,  and  these  stoical  In- 
dians, illumined  by  the  ruddy  glow  of 
the  fire,  completed  the  most  fearful  pic- 
ture that  the  wildest  imagination  could 
have  invented. 

“ Enough,”  Natah  Otann  said. 

“ A last  gift,  a last  remembrance.” 
The  chief  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

“ For  what  good  ]”  he  said. 

“ To  render  the  death  you  intend  for 
me  less  cruel.” 

“ What  is  it  you  want  ]” 

“ Hang  round  my  daughter’s  neck 
this  earring,  suspended  by  a lock  of  my 
hair]” 

“ Is  that  really  all  ]” 

« It  is.” 

“ Very  good.” 

The  chief  came  up,  took  from  the 
emigrant’s  ear  a ring  he  wore  in  it,  and 
cut  off  with  a scalping-knife  a lock  of 
his  hair  ; then,  turning  to  him  with  a 
sardonic  laugh,  he  said  : 

“ Listen  carefully.  Your  companions 
and  yourself  are  going  to  be  flayed 
alive.  Of  a strip  of  your  skin  I will 
make  a bag  to  hold  the  lock  of  hair  and 
ring.  You  see  that  l am  generous,  for 
I grant  you  more  than  you  ask ; but 
remember  the  conditions.” 

The  emigrant  looked  at  him  disdain- 
fully. 

“ Keep  your  promises  as  well  as  I 
shall  mine:  and  now  begin  the  torture, 
you  will  see  a man  die.” 

Things  were  done  as  had  been  ar- 
ranged ; the  emigrant  and  his  servants 
were  flayed  alive.  The  emigrant  en- 
dured the  torture  with  a courage  which 
even  the  chief  admired.  Not  a cry,  not 
a groan,  issued  from  his  bleeding  chest; 


73 


TIIE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


he  was  made  of  granite.  When  his 
skin  was  entirely  stripped  off,  Natah 
Otann  went  up  to  him ; the  unhappy 
wretch  was  not  yet  dead. 

“ Thou  art  a man,”  he  said  to  him. 
“ Die  satisfied.  I will  keep  the  promise 
I made  thee.” 

And  moved  doubtlessly  by  a feeling 
of  pity  for  so  much  firmness,  he  blew 
out  his  brains. 

This  horrible  punishment  lasted  four 
hours.  The  Indians  plundered  all  the 
Americans  possessed,  and  what  they 
could  not  carry  off  they  burned.  Natah 
Otann  rigidly  kept  the  oath  he  had 
made  to  his  victim  : as  he  said,  from  a 
strip  of  his  skin,  imperfectly  tanned,  he 
made  a bag,  in  which  he  placed  the  lock 
of  hair,  and  hung  it  round  the  child’s 
neck  by  a cord  also  made  of  his  skin. 
On  the  homeward  road  to  his  village, 
Natah  Otann  paid  the  most  assiduous 
attention  to  the  poor  little  creature ; 
and,  on  rejoining  the  tribe,  the  chief 
declared  before  all  that  he  adopted  the 
girl,  and  gave  her  the  name  of  Prairie 
Plower. 

At  the  period  our  story  begins,  Prai- 
rie Flower  was  fourteen  years  of  age  ; 
she  was  a charming  creature,  gentle  and 
simple,  lovely  as  the  princess  of  a fai  y 
tale.  Her  large  blue  eyes,  veiled  by 
long  brown  lashes,  reflected  the  azure 
of  the  heaven,  and  she  ran  about,  care- 
less and  wild,  through  the  forests  and 
over  the  prairie,  dreaming  at  times  be- 
neath the  shady  recesses  of  the  giant 
trees,  living  as  the  birds  live,  forgetting 
the  past,  which  was  to  her  as  yester- 
day, caring  nothing  for  the  future,  which 
to  her  had  no  existence,  and  only  think- 
ing of  the  present  to  be  happy. 

The  charming  girl  had  unconsciously 
become  the  idol  of  the  tribe.  The  old 
White  Buffalo  more  especially  felt  an 
unbounded  affection  for  her;  but  the 
experiment  he  had  made  with  Natah 
Otann  disgusted  him  with  a second  trial 
at  education.  He  only  watched  over 
her  with  truly  paternal  care,  correcting 
any  fault  he  might  notice  in  her  with  a 
patience  and  kindness  nothing  could 
weary.  This  old  tribune,  like  all  ener- 
getic and  implacable  men,  had  the  heart 
of  a lamb.  Having  entirely  renounced 
the  world  which  mistook  him,  he  had 


refreshed  his  soul  in  the  desert,  and  re- 
covered the  illusions  and  generous  im- 
pulses of  his  youth. 

Prairie  Flower  had  retained  no  re- 
membrance of  her  early  years;  as  no 
one  ever  alluded  in  her  presence  to  the 
t rrible  scenes  which  introduced  her  to 
the  tribe,  fresher  impressions  had  com- 
pletely effaced  them.  Loved  and  petted 
by  all,  Prairie  Flower  fancied  herself  1 
a child  of  the  tribe.  Her  long  tresses 
of  light  hair,  gilded  like  ripe  corn,  and 
the  dazzling  whiten  ss  of  her  skin,  coul  l 
not  enlighten  her,  for  in  many  Indian 
nations  these  anamolies  are  found  ; the 
Mandans,  among  others,  have  many 
women  and  warriors  who,  if  they  put 
on  European  clothes,  might  easily  pass 
for  whites. 

The  Blackfeet,  seduced  by  the  charms 
of  this  gentle  young  creature,  attached 
the  destinies  of  the  tribe  to  her.  They 
considered  her  their  tutelary  genius, 
their  palladium  : their  faith  in  her  was 
deep,  serene,  and  simple.  Prairie 
Flower  was  truly  the  Queen  of  the 
Blackfeet;  a sign  from  her  rosy  fingers, 
a word  from  her  dainty  lips,  wras  obeyed 
w'ith  unbounded  promptitude  and  devo- 
tion. She  could  do  anything,  say  every- 
thing, demand  everything,  without  fear- 
ing even  a second’s  hesitation  to  her 
will.  She  exercised  this  despotic 
authority  unsuspectingly;  she  alone  was 
unaware  of  the  immense  power  she  pos- 
sessed over  these  brutal  natives,  who  in 
her  presence  became  gentle  and  de- 
voted. 

Natah  Otann  was  attached  to  his  - 
adopted  daughter,  so  far  as  organiza- 
tions like  his  are  capable  of  yielding  to 
any  feeling. 

At  first  he  sported  with  the  girl  as 
wbth  an  unimportant  plaything;  but 
gradually  as  the  child  was  transformed 
and  became  a woman,  these  sports  be- 
came more  serious,  and  his  heart  was 
attracted.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life 
this  man,  with  his  indomitable  soul,  felt 
a feeling  stir  in  him,  which  he  could  not 
analyze,  but  which,  through  its  force 
and  violence,  astonished  and  terrified 
him.  Then  a dumb  struggle  began  be- 
tween the  chief s head  and  heart.  He 
revolted  against  this  influence  which 
subjugated  him  ; he,  hitherto  accustom- 


THE  FLOWER  OF  TIIE  PRAIRIE. 


71 


ed  to  break  through  every  obstacle,  was 
now  powerless  before  a child,  who  dis- 
armed him  with  a smile,  when  he  tried 
to  overpower  her.  This  struggle  lasted 
a long  time;  at  length  the  terrible  In- 
dian confessed  himself  vanquished,  that 
is  to  say,  he  allowed  the  current  to  car- 
ry him  away  and  without  attempting  a 
’ resistance,  which  he  felt  to  be  useless, 
he  began  to  love  the  young  maiden 
madly.  But  this  love  at  times  caused 
him  suffering  so  terrible,  when  he 
thought  of  the  manner  in  which  Prairie 
Flower  had  become  his  adopted  daugh- 
ter, that  he  asked  himself  with  terror, 
whether  this  deep  love  which  had  seized 
on  his  brain,  and  mastered  him,  was  not 
a chastisement  imposed  bv  heaven. 

Then  he  fell  back  in  his  usual  state 
of  fury,  redoubled  his  ferocity  with 
those  unhappy  beings  whose  plantations 
he  surprised,  and  all  reeking  with  blood, 
his  belt  hung  with  scalps,  he  returned 
to  the  village,  and  displayed  the  hideous 
trophies  before  the  girl.  Prairie  Flow- 
er, astonished  at  the  state  in  which  she 
saw  a man  whom  she  believed  to  be — 
not  her  father,  for  he  was  too  young — 
but  a relative,  lavished  on  him  all  the 
consolations  and  simple  caresses  which 
her  attachment  to  him  suggested  to 
her,  unfortunately,  these  caresses  height- 
ened  his  suffering,  and  he  would  rush 
away  half  mad  with  grief,  leaving  her 
sad  and  almost  terrified  by  this  conduct, 
which  was  so  incomprehensible  to  her. 

Matters  reached  such  a pitch,  that  the 
White  Buffalo,  whose  vigilant  eye  was 
constantly  fixed  on  his  pupil,  considered 
that  he  must,  at  all  risks,  cut  away  the 
evil  at  the  root,  and  withdraw  the  son 
of  his  friend  from  the  deadly  fascination 
exercised  over  .him  by  this  innocent  en- 
chantress. When  he  felt  convinced  of 
the  chief’s  love  for  Prairie  Flower,  the 
old  sachem  asked  fora  private  interview 
with  his  pupil ; the  latter  granted  it, 
quite  unsuspecting  the  reason  which 
urged  the  White  Buffalo  to  take  this 
step. 

One  morning  the  chief  presented 
himself  at  the  entrance  of  his  friend’s 
lodge.  The  White  Bulfalo  was  reading 
by  the  side  of  a fire  kindled  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  hut. 

“ You  are  welcome,  my  son,”  he  said 


to  the  young  man.  “ I have  only  a 
few  words  to  say  to  you,  but  I consider 
them  sufficiently  serious  for  you  to  hear 
them  without  delay ; sit  down  by  my 
side.” 

The  young  man  obeyed.  The  White 
Buffalo  then  carefully  changed  his  tac- 
tics ; he,  who  had  so  long  combated  the 
chief’s  views  as  to  the  regeneration  of 
the  Indian  race,  entered  completely  into 
his  views,  with  an  ardor  and  conviction 
carried  so  far,  that  the  young  man  was 
astonished,  and  could  not  refrain  from 
asking  what  produced  this  sudden 
change  in  his  opinion  ? 

“ The  cause  is  very  simple,”  the  old 
man  answered.  “ So  long  as  I considered 
that  these  views  were  only  suggested  by 
the  impetuosity  of  youth,  1 merely  re- 
garded them  as  the  dreams  of  a gener- 
© © 

ous  heart,  which  was  deceiving  itself, 
and  not  taking  the  trouble  to  weigh  the 
chances  of  success.” 

“ What  now  ?”  the  young  man  asked, 
quickly. 

“ Now,  I recognize  all  the  earnest- 
ness, nobility,  and  grandeur,  contained 
in  your  plans  ; and  not  only  admit  their 
possibility,  but  I wish  to  aid  you  so  as 
to  ensure  success.” 

“Is  what  you  ask  quite  true,  my 
father  V’  the  young  man  asked,  with 
exultation. 

“1  swear  it:  still  we  must  set  to 
work  immediately.” 

The  chief  examined  him  fora  moment 
carefully  ; but  the  old  man  remained 
impassive. 

“ l understand  you,”  he  at  length 
said,  slowly,  and  in  a deep  voice;  “ you 
offer  me  your  hand  on  the  verge  of  an 
abyss.  Thanks,  my  father,  I will  not 
be  unworthy  of  you  ; 1 swear  it  to  you 
by  tne  Wacondah.” 

“ Good  ; believe  me,  my  son,  I rec- 
ognise you,”  the  old  man  said,  shaking 
his  head  mournfully.  “ One’s  country 
is  often  an  ungrateful  mistress;  but  it 
is  the  only  one  which  gives  us  pure  en- 
joyment, of  mind,  if  we  serve  her  disin- 
terestedly for  herself  alone.” 

The  two  men  shook  hands  affection- 
ately ; the  compact  was  sealed.  We 
shall  soon  see  whether  Natah  Otann 
had.  really  conquered  his  love  as  he  im- 
agined. 


72 


TIIE  FLOWER  OF  TIIE  PRAIRIE. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  GREAT  COUNCIL. 

Natah  Otann  set  to  work  immediate- 
ly, with  theardordistinguishing  him.  He 
sent  emissaries  in  every  direction  to  the 
principal  chiefs  on  the  western  prairies, 
and  convoked  them  to  a great  plain  in 
the  valley  of  the  Missouri,  at  a spot 
called  u The  Tree  of  the  Master  of 
Life,’'  on  the  fourth  day  of  the  moon  of 
the  hardened  snow.  This  spot  was  held 
in  great  veneration  by  the  Missouri  In- 
dians, who  went  there  constantly  to 
hang  up  presents.  It  was  an  immense 
sandy  plain,  completely  denuded  of  veg- 
etation ; in  the  centre  of  the  desert  rose 
a gigantic  tree,  an  oak,  twenty  feet  in 
circumference  at  least,  the  trunk  being 
hollow,  and  the  tufted  branches  cover- 
ing an  enormous  superfices.  This  tree, 
which  was  a hundred  and  twenty  feet  in 
height,  and  which  grew  there  by  acci- 
dent, necessarily  was  regarded  by  the  In- 
dians as  something  miraculous  ; hence 
the  name  they  gave  it. 

On  the  appointed  day,  the  Indians  ar- 
rived from  all  sides,  marching  in  good 
order,  and  camping  at  a short  distance 
from  the  spot  selected  for  the  council. 
An  immense  fire  had  been  kindled  at 
the  foot  of  the  tree,  and  at  a signal  giv- 
en by  the  drummers,  or  Chichikoues, 
the  chiefs  collected  around  it,  a few  pa- 
ces behind  the  sachems.  The  Blackfeet, 
Nezperces,  Assiniboins,  Man  dans,  and 
other  horsemen,  formed  a tremendous 
cordon  round  the  council  fire  ; while 
scouts  traversed  the  deserts  in  every  di- 
rection, to  keep  off  intruders,  and  in- 
sure the  secrecy  of  the  deliberations. 

In  the  east  the  sun  was  pouring  forth 
its  beams  ; the  desert,  parched  and  na- 
ked, was  mingled  with  the  boundless  ho- 
rizon ; to  the  south,  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains displayed  the  eternal  snows  of 
theii  summits  ; while  in  the  northwest, 
a silvery  ribbon  indicated  the  course  of 
the  old  Missouri.  Such  was  the  land- 
scape, if  we  may  call  it  so,  where  the 
barbarous  warriors,  clothed  in  their 
strange  costumes,  were  assembled  round 
the  symbolic  tree. 

This  majestic  sight  involuntarily  re- 
minded the  observer  of  other  times  and 


climes,  when,  by  the  light  of  the  incen- 
diary fires  they  kindled,  the  ferocious 
comrades  of  Attila  rushed  to  conquer 
and  rejuvenate  the  Roman  Empire. 

Generally  the  natives  of  America 
have  a Divinity,  or,  more  correctlv,  a 
Genius,  at  times  beneficent,  but  more 
frequently  hostile.  The  worship  of  the 
savage  is  less  veneraiion  than  fear.  The 
Master  of  Life  is  an  evil  genius,  rather 
than  kind;  hence  the  Indians  give  his 
name  to  the  tree  to  which  they  attribute 
the  same  powers.  Indian  religions, 
being  all  primitive,  make  no  account  of 
the  moral  being,  and  only  dwell  on  the 
accidents  of  nature,  which  they  make 
into  gods.  These  different  tribes  strive 
to  secure  the  favor  of  the  deserts,  where 
fatigue  and  thirst  entail  death,  and  of 
the  rivers,  which  may  swallow  them 
up. 

The  chiefs,  as  we  have  said,  were 
crouching  round  the  fire,  in  a state  of 
contemplative  immobility,  from  which 
it  might  be  inferred  that  they  were  pre- 
paring for  an  important  ceremony  of 
their  worship.  Presently,  Natah  Otann 
raised  to  his  lips  the  long  war-pipe, 
made  of  a human  thigh-bone,  which  he 
wore  hanging  round  his  neck,  and  pro- 
duced a piercing  and  prolonged  sound. 
At  this  signal,  for  it  was  one,  the  chiefs 
rose,  and  forming  in  Indian  file,  marched 
twice  round  the  tree,  singing,  in  a low 
voice,  a hymn,  to  implore  its  assistance 
for  the  success  of  their  plans.  At  the 
third  time  of  inarching  round,  Natah 
Otann  took  off  a magnificent  collar  of 
grizzly  bears’  claws  from  his  neck,  and 
hung  it  to  the  branches  of  the  tree,  say- 
ing : 

“ Master  of  Life,  look  on  us  with  a 
favorable  eye.  1 offer  thee  this  pre- 
sent.” 

The  other  chiefs  imitated  his  example 
each  in  turn;  then  they  resumed  their 
seats  round  the  council-fire.  The  pipe- 
bearer  then  entered  the  circle,  and  after 
the  customary  ceremonies,  offered  the 
calumet  to  the  chiefs,  and  when  eacii 
had  smoked,  the  oldest  sachem  invited 
Natah  Otann  to  take  the  word. 

The  Indian  chiefs  plan  was  probably 
the  most  daring  ever  formed  against  the 
whites,  and,  as  the  White  Buffalo  said, 
mockingly,  must  offer  chances  of  sue- 


TIIE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRATRTE. 


73 


cess  through  its  improbability,  because 
it  flattered  the  superstitious  ideas  of  the 
Indians,  who,  like  all  primitive  nations, 
place  great  faith  in  the  marve  lous.  It 
is,  besides,  the  quality  of  oppressed  na- 
tions, to  whom  reality  never  offers  aught 
but  disillusions  and  suffering,  to  take 
refuge  in  the  supernatural,  which  alone 
offers  them  consolation.  Natali  Otann 
had  drawn  the  first  idea  of  his  plan  from 
one  of  the  oldest  and  most  inveterate 
traditions  of  the  Comanches,  his  ances- 
tors. This  tradition,  by  reciting  which 
his  father  often  lulled  him  to  sleep  in 
his  childhood,  pleased  his  adventurous 
mind  ; and  when  the  hour  arrived  to 
put  in  execution  the  projects  which  he 
had  so  long  revolved,  he  invoked  it, 
and  resolved  to  employ  it,  in  order  to 
collect  the  other  Indian  nations  around 
him  in  one  common  whole. 

When  Moctecuzoma  (whom  Spanish 
writers  improperly  call  Montezuma,  a 
name  which  has  no  meaning,  while  the 
first  signifies  the  “ stern  lord  ”)  found 
himself  imprisoned  in  his  palace  by  that 
talented  adventurer,  Cor  ez,  who,  a few 
days  later,  tore  his  kingdom  from  him, 
the  emperor,  who  preferred  to  confide 
in  greedy  strangers  than  take  refuge  in 
the  midst  of  his  people,  had  a presenti- 
ment of  the  fate  reserved  for  him.  A 
few  days  prior  to  his  death,  he  assembled 
the  principal  Mexican  chiefs  who  shared 
his  prison,  and  addressed  them  thus  : 

“ Listen  ! My  father,  the  Sun,  has 
warned  me  that  I shall  soon  return  to 
him.  I know  not  how  or  when  I am 
destined  to  die,  but  I am  certain  that  my 
last  hour  is  close  at  hand.’’ 

As  the  chiefs  burst  into  tears  at  these 
words,  for  they  held  him  in  great  vene- 
ration, he  consoled  them  by  saying  : 

“ My  last  hour  is  near  on  this  earth, 
but  I shall  not  die,  as  1 am  returning  to 
my  father,  the  Sun,  where  I shall  enjoy 
a felicity  unknown  in  this  world  ; weep 
not,  therefore,  my  faithful  friends,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  rejoice  at  the  happiness 
which  awaits  me.  The  bearded  white 
men  have  treacherously  seized  the 
greater  portion  of  my  empire,  and  they 
will  soon  be  masters  of  the  remainder. 
Who  can  stop  them?  Their  weapons 
render  them  invulnerable,  and  they  dis- 
pose at  their  will  of  the  fire  from 


heaven  ; but  their  power  will  end  one 
day  ; they,  too,  will  be  the  victims  of 
treachery ; the  penalty  of  retaliation 
will  be  inflicted  on  them  in  all  its  rigor. 
Listen,  then,  attentively,  to  what  I am 
about  to  ask  of  you  ; the  safety  of  our 
country  depends  on  the  fidelity  with 
which  you  execute  my  last  orders. 
Each  of  you  take  a little  of  the  sacred 
fire  which  was  formerly  kindled  by  the 
Sun  himself,  and  on  which  the  white 
men  have  not  yet  dared  to  lay  a sacrile- 
gious hand  to  extinguish  it.  This  fire 
burns  before  you  in  this  golden  censer; 
take  it  unto  you,  not  letting  your  ene- 
mies know  what  has  become  of  it.  You 
will  divide  the  fire  among  you,  so  that 
each  may  have  a sufficiency ; preserve 
it  religiously,  and  never  let  it  go  out. 
Each  morning,  after  adoring  it,  mount 
on  the  roof  of  your  house,  at  sunrise, 
and  look  toward  the  east;  one  day  you 
will  see  me  appear,  giving  my  right 
hand  to  my  father,  the  Sun;  then  you 
will  rejoice,  for  the  moment  of  your 
deliverance  will  be  at  hand.  My  father 
and  I will  come  to  restore  you  to  liber- 
ty, and  deliver  you  forever  from  these 
enemies,  who  have  come  from  a per- 
verse world,  that  rejected  them  from  its 
bosom.” 

The  Mexican  chiefs  obeyed  the  orders 
of  their  well-beloved  emperor  on  the 
spot,  for  time  pressed.  A few  days 
later,  Moctecuzoma  mounted  on  the 
roof  of  his  palace,  and  prepared  to  ad- 
dress his  mutinous  people,  when  he  was 
struck  by  an  arrow,  it  was  never  known 
by  whom,  and  fell  into  the  arms  of  the 
Spanish  soldiery  who  accompanied  him. 
Before  breathing  his  last  sigh,  the  em- 
peror sat  up,  and  raising  his  hands  to 
heaven,  said,  with  a supreme  effort,  to 
his  friends  assembled  round  him  : 

“The  fire!  the  fire!  think  of  the 
fire  !” 

These  were  his  last  words ; ten 
minutes  later  he  had  ceased  to  breathe. 
In  vain  did  the  Spaniards,  whose  curio- 
sity was  strongly  aroused  by  this  mys- 
terious recommendation,  try  all  the 
means  in  their  power  to  penetrate  its 
meaning;  but  they  did  not  succeed  in 
making  one  of  the  Mexicans  they  inter- 
rogated speak.  All  religiously  pre- 
served their  secret,  and  several,  indeed, 


/4 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


died  of  torture,  rather  than  reveal  it. 

The  Comanches,  and  nearly  all  the 
nations  of  the  Far  West,  have  kept 
this  belief  intact.  In  all  the  Indian  vil- 
lages, the  fire  of  Moctecuzoma,  which 
burns  eternally,  is  guarded  by  two  war- 
riors, who  remain  by  it  for  twenty-four 
hours  without  eating  or  drinking,  when 
’they  are  relieved  by  two  others.  For- 
merly the  guardians  remained  forty- 
eight  hours  instead  of  twenty-four.  It 
very  frequently  happened  that  they  were 
found  dead  when  the  reliefs  came,  either 
through  the  mephitic  gases  of  the  fire, 
which  had  great  effect  on  them,  owing  to 
their  long  fast,  or  for  some  other  rea- 
son. The  bodies  were  taken  away,  and 
placed  in  a cavern,  where,  as  the  Com- 
anches say,  a serpent  devoured  them. 

This  belief  is  so  general,  that  it  is  not 
only  found  among  the  Red  Indians,  but 
also  among  the  Manzos.  Many  men, 
considered  to  be  well  educated,  keep 
up,  in  hidden  centers,  the  fire  of  Moc- 
tecuzoma, visit  it  every  day,  and  do  net 
fail  at  sunrise  to  mount  on  the  roof  of 
their  houses  and  look  towards  the  east 
in  the  hope  of  seeing  their  well-beloved 
emperor  coming  to  restore  them  that 
liberty  for  which  they  have  sighed  dur- 
ing so  many  ages,  and  which  the  Mexi- 
can Republic  is  far  from  having  granted 
ttiem. 

Natah  Otann’s  idea  was  this  : To  tell 
the  Indians  after  narrating  the  legend 
to  them,  that  the  time  had  arrived  when 
Moctecuzoma  would  appear  a d act  as 
their  chief ; to  form  a powerful  band 
of  warriors,  whom  he  would  spread 
along  the  whole  American  frontier,  so 
as  to  attack  his  enemies  at  every  point 
simultaneously,  and  not  give  them  time 
to  look  about  them. 

This  project,  mad  as  it  was,  especial- 
ly in  having  to  be  executed  by  Indians, 
or  men  the  least  capable  of  forming  al- 
liances, which  have  ever  caused  them  de- 
feats ; this  project,  we  say,  was  deficient 
neither  in  boldness  nor  in  nobility,  and 
Natah  Otann  was  really  the  only  man 
capable  of  carrying  it  out,  could  he  but 
find,  among  the  persons  he  wished  to 
arouse,  two  or  three  docile  and  intelli- 
gent instruments,  that  would  understand 
his  idea,  and  heartily  co-operate  with 
him. 


The  Comanches,  Pawnees,  aud  Sioux 
were  of  great  utility  to  the  chief,  as 
well  as  the  majority  of  the  Indians  of 
the  Far  West,  for  they  shared  in  the 
belief  on  which  Natah  Otann  based  his 
plans,  and  not  only  did  not  need  to  be 
persuaded,  but  would  help  him  in  per- 
suading the  Missouri  Indians  by  their 
assent  to  his  assertions.  But  in  so  large 
an  assembly  of  nations,  divided  by  a 
multitude  of  interests,  speaking  differ- 
ent languages,  generally  hostile  to  each 
how  would  it  be  possible  to  establish  a 
tie  sufficiently  strong  to  attach  them  in 
an  indissolulde  manner  ? 

How  convince  them  to  march  to- 
gether without  jealousy  ? Lastly,  was 
it  reasonable  to  suppose  that  there 
would  not  be  a traitor  to  sell  his  bro 
thors,  and  reveal  their  plan  to  the 
Yankees,  who  ever  have  an  eye  on  the 
movements  of  the  Indians,  for  they  are 
so  anxious  to  be  rid  of  them? 

Still,  Natah  Otann  did  not  recoil ; he 
did  not  conceal  from  himself  the  d ffi- 
culties  which  he  should  have  to  over- 
come ; but  his  courage  grew  with  ob- 
stacles. His  resolution  was  strength- 
ened, if  we  may  use  the  term,  in 
proportion  to  the  responsibilities  which 
must  every  moment  rise  before  him. 
When  the  sachems  made  him  the  signal 
to  rise,  Natah  Otann  saw  that  the  mo- 
ment had  arrived  to  begin  the  difficult 
game  he  wished  to  play.  He  took  the 
word  resolutely,  certain  that,  with  the 
men  he  had  before  him,  all  depended 
on  the  manner  in  wh  ch  he  handled  the 
question,  and  that,  the  first  impression 
once  made,  success  was  almost  certain. 

“ Chiefs  of  the  Comanches,  Osages, 
Sioux,  Pawnees,  Mandans,  Assiniboins, 
Missouris,  and  all  you  that  listen  to  me. 
My  red  brothers,”  he  said,  in  a firm 
and  deeply  accentuated  voice,  “ for  ma- 
ny moons  my  spirit  has  been  sad.  1 
see,  with  sorrow,  our  hunting-gr  unds, 
invaded  by  the  white  men,  grow  small- 
er every  day.  We,  whose  innumerable 
people  covered,  scarce  four  centuries 
back,  the  immense  extent  of  territory 
compassed  between  the  two  seas,  are 
now  reduced  to  a small  party  or  warri- 
ors, who,  timid  as  antelopes,  fly  before 
our  despoilers.  Our  sacred  cities,  the 
I last  refuge  of  the  civilization  of  our  fa- 


THE  FLOWER  OF  TIIE  PRAIRIE. 


75 


thers,  the  Incas,  will  become  the  prey 
of  those  monsters  with  human  faces  who 
have  no  olher  God  but  gold.  Our  dis- 
persed race  will  possibly  soon  disap- 
pear f rom  that  world  which  it  has  so  long 
possessed  and  governed  alone.  Track- 
ed like  wild  animals  ; brutalized  by 
firewater,  that  corrosive  poison  invented 
by  the  white  men  for  our  ruin  ; decima- 
ted by  the  sword  and  white  diseases, 
our  wandering  tribes  are  now  but  the 
shadow  of  a people.  Our  conquerers 
despise  our  religion,  and  wish  to  bow 
us  beneath  the  laws  of  the  crucified 
One.  They  outrage  our  wives  ; kill 
our  children;  burn  our  villages;  and 
will  reduce  us,  if  they  can,  to  the  state 
of  wild  beasts,  under  the  pretext  of  civ- 
ilizing  us.  Indians,  all  you  who  hear 
me,  is  our  blood  so  impoverished  in  our 
veins,  and  have  you  all  renounced  your 
independence  ! Reply,  will  you  die  as 
slaves,  or  live  free  V’ 

At  these  words,  pronounced  in  a loud 
tone,  and  heightened  by  an  energetic 
gesture,  a tremor  ran  through  the  as- 
sembly ; brows  were  bent  firmly,  all 
eyes  sparkled. 

“ Speak,  speak  again,  sachem  of  the 
Blackfeet,”  all  the  chiefs  shouted  unani- 
mously. 

Natah  Otann  smiled  proudly,  his 
power  over  the  masses  was  revealed  to 
him.  He  continued  : 

“ The  hour  has  at  length  arrived,  af- 
ter so  many  hesitations,  to  shake  off  the 
shameful  yoke  that  presses  on  us. 
Within  a few  days,  if  you  please,  we 
will  drive  the  whites  far  from  our  fron- 
tiers, and  repay  them  all  the  evil  they 
have  done  us.  For  a long  time  1 have 
watched  the  Americans  and  Spaniards. 
I know  their  tactics,  their  resources  ; to 
utterly  destroy  them,  what  do  we  need, 
my  well-beloved  brothers  1 two  things 
alone — skill  and  courage  !” 

The  Indians  interrupted  him  with 
shouts  of  joy. 

“You  shall  be  free,”  Natah  Otann 
continued.  “ I will  restore  to  you  the 
valleys  of  your  ancestors,  the  fields 
where  their  bones  are  buried,  and  which 
the  sacrilegious  plough  disperses  in 
every  direction.  This  project,  ever 
since  I became  a man,  has  fermented  in 
my  heart,  and  become  my  life.  Far 

5 


from  me  and  from  you  the  thought  that 
1 intend  to  force  myself  upon  you  as 
chief,  especially  since  the  prodigy  ot 
which  I have  been  witness,  in  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  great  emperor  ! No  ; 
after  that  supreme  chief,  who  must  guide 
you  to  liberty,  you  are  free  to  choose 
the  man  who  will  execute  his  orders, 
and  communicate  them  to  you.  When 
you  have  chosen  him,  you  will  obey 
him;  follow  him  everywhere;  and 
pass  with  him  through  the  most  insur- 
mountable dangers,  lor  he  will  be  the 
elect  of  the  Sun,  the  lieutenant  of  Moc- 
tecuzoma  ! Do  not  deceive  yourselves, 
warriors  ; our  enemy  is  powerful,  nu- 
merous, well-disciplined,  warlike,  and 
has,  before  all,  the  habit  of  conquering 
us,  which  is  a great  advantage  to  him. 
Name,  then,  this  lieutenant ; let  his 
election  be  free  ; take  the  most  worthy 
and  I will  joyfully  march  under  his  or- 
ders !” 

And  after  saluting  the  sachems,  Na- 
tah Otann  disappeared  in  a crowd  of 
warriors,  with  calm  brow,  but  with  a 
heart  devoured  by  restlessness.  His 
eloquence,  so  novel  to  the  Indians,  had 
seduced  them,  and  thrown  them  into  a 
species  of  frenzy.  They  considered  the 
daring  Blackfoot  chief  a genius  superior 
to  themselves,  and  almost  bowed  the 
knee  to  him  in  adoration,  so  cleverly 
had  he  struck  the  chord  which  must 
touch  their  hearts.  For  a long  time 
the  council  gave  way  to  a sort  of  mad- 
ness, and  all  spoke  at  once ; when  this 
emotion  was  calmed,  the  wisest  of  the 
sachems  discussed  the  opportunity  for 
taking  up  arms,  and  the  chances  of  sue 
cess.  It  was  now  that  the  tribes  of  the 
Far  West,  who  believed  in  the  legend 
of  the  sacred  fire,  became  so  useful  ; at 
length,  after  a protracted  discussion, 
opinions  were  unanimous  for  a general 
uprising.  The  ranks  momentarily  brok- 
en, were  reformed,  and  the  White  Buf- 
falo, invited  by  the  chiefs  to  express  the 
opinions  of  the  council,  spoke  as  fol- 
lows : 

“ Chiefs  of  the  allied  Indian  tribes, 
listen  ! This  day  it  has  been  resolved 
by  the  following  chiefs: — Little  Panth- 
er, Spotted  Dog,  White  Buffalo,  Grizzly 
Bear,  Red  Wolf,  White  Fox,  Tawny 
Vulture,  Glistening  Snake  and  others, 


76 


THE  FLOWER  OF  TIIE  PRAIRIE. 


each  representing  a nation  and  a tribe, 
that  war  has  been  declared  against  the 
white  men,  our  plunderers  ; and  as  this 
war  is  holy,  and  has  liberty  for  its  ob- 
ject, all  men,  women  and  children  must 
take  part  in  it,  each  according  to  their 
strength.  This  very  day  the  wampums 
will  be  sent  by  the  chiefs  to  all  the  In- 
dian tribes  that,  owing  to  the  distance 
of  these  hunting-grounds,  were  unable 
to  be  present  at  this  great  council,  in 
spite  of  their  great  desire  to  be  so.  1 
have  spoken  V1 

A long  cry  of  enthusiasm  interrupted 
the  White  Buffalo,  who  continued  soon 
after : 

“ The  chiefs,  after  ripe  deliberation, 
assenting  to  the  request  made  to  the 
council  by  Natah  Otann,  the  first  sachem 
of  the  Blackfeet,  that  they  should  ap- 
point a lieutenant  to  the  Emperor 
Moctecuzoma.  sovereign-chief  of  the  In- 
dian warriors,  have  chosen  as  supreme 
leader  under  the  sole  crders  cf  the  said 
Emperor,  the  wisest,  most  prudent  and 
worthy  to  command  us.  That  warrior 
is  the  sachem  of  the  Blackfoot  Indians, 
of  the  tribe  of  the  Kenhas,  whose  race 
is  so  ancient,  Natah  Otann,  the  cousin 
of  the  Sun,  that  dazzling  planet  which 
illumines  us.” 

A thunder  of  applause  greeted  the 
last  words.  Natah  Otann  saluted  the 
sachems,  walked  into  the  circle,  and 
said  in  a haughty  voice  : 

“ I accept,  sachems,  my  brothers  ; we 
agree,  1 shall  be  dead,  or  you  will  be 
free.” 

“ May  the  Grizzly  Bear  live  forever  !” 
the  crowd  shouted. 

“War  to  the  white  men!”  Natah 
Otann  continued,  “ a war  without  truce 
or  mercy.  A slaughter  of  wild  beasts, 
as  they  are  accustomed  to  treat  us, 
Remember  the  law  of  the  prairies  : — eye 
for  eye ; tooth  for  tooth  Let  each 
chief  send  the  wampum  of  war  to  his 
nation,  for  at  the  end  of  this  moon  we 
will  arouse  our  enemies  by  a thunder- 
bolt. At  the  seventh  hour  of  this  night 
we  will  meet  again  to  select  the  subal- 
tern chiefs,  number  our  warriors,  and 
choose  the  day  and  hour  for  attack.” 

The  chiefs  bowed  without  replying, 
rejoined  their  escorts,  and  soon  disap- 


peared in  a cloud  of  dust.  Natah  Otann 
and  the  White  Buffalo  remained  alone; 
a detachment  of  Blackfeet  warriors 
watching  over  them  at  a distance.  Na- 
tah Otann,  with  his  arms  crossed  and 
head  bowed,  seemed  plunged  in  pro- 
found reflection. 

“ Well,”  the  old  Indian  said,  with  an 
almost  imperceptible  shade  of  irony  in 
his  voice, you  have  succeeded,  m;y  son; 
you  are  happy.  Your  plans  will  at 
length  be  accomplished.” 

“ Yes,”  he  replied,  without  noticing 
the  sarcastic  tone  of  voice  ; “ war  is  de- 
clared ; my  plans  have  succeeded  ; but 
now,  friend,  I tremble  at  such  a heavy 
task.  Will  these  peculiar  men  thor- 
oughly comprehend  me  ? Will  they  be 
able  to  read  in  my  heart,  all  the  love 
and  adoration  I feel  for  them  ? Are 
they  ripe  for  liberty  1 perhaps  they 
have  not  suffered  enough,  yet  'l  Father, 
father,  whose  heart  is  so  powerful  and 
soul  so  great;  whose  life  was  used  up 
in  numerous  contests,  counsel  me  ! help 
me  ! I am  young  and  weak,  and  I only 
have  a strong  will  and  a boundless  de- 
votion to  support  me.” 

The  old  man  smiled  mournfully,  and 
muttered,  answering  his  own  thoughts 
more  than  his  friend  : 

“Yes;  my  life  was  used  up  in  su- 
preme struggles  ; the  work  I helped  to 
raise  has  been  overthrown,  but  not  des- 
troyed ; for  a new  society,  full  of  vitali- 
ty, has  arisen  from  1 he  ruins  of  a de- 
crepid  society  ; by  our  efforts  the  fur- 
row was  ploughed  too  deeply  for  it  ever 
to  be  filled  up  again ; progress  march- 
ing onward,  nothing  can  check  or  stop 
it ! Do  not  halt  on  the  road  you  have 
chosen;  it  is  the  greatest  and  most  no- 
ble a great  heart  can  follow.” 

In  uttering  these  words,  the  old  man 
had  allowed  his  enthusiasm  to  carry 
him  away  ; his  head  was  raised  ; his 
brow  glistened;  the  expiring  sun  played 
on  his  face,  and  imparted  to  it  an  ex- 
pression which  Natah  Otann  had  never 
seen  before,  and  which  filled  him  with 
respect.  But  the  old  man  shook  his 
head  sorrowfully,  and  continued  : 

“ Child,  how  will  you  keep  your  pro- 
mise ? where  will  you  find  Moctecuzo- 
ma r 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


77 


Natah  Otann  smiled. 

“ You  will  soon  see,  my  father]”  he 
said. 

At  the  same  moment,  an  Indian, 
whose  panting  horse  seemed  to  breathe 
fire  through  its  nostrils,  came  up  to  the 
chiefs,  where  he  stopped  suddenly,  as  if 
converted  into  marble;  without  dis- 
mounting, he  bent  down  to  Natah 
Otann’s  ear. 

“ Already  !”  the  latter  exclaimed. 
“ Oh  ! heaven  must  be  on  my  side ! 
there  is  not  a moment  to  lose.  My 
horse  ! quick.” 

“ What  is  the  matter  ]”  the  White 
Buffalo  asked. 

“ Nothing  that  relates  to  you  at  pre- 
sent, my  father  ; but  you  shall  soon 
know  all.” 

“ You  are  going  alone,  then  !” 

“ I must  for  a short  period.  Fare- 
well !” 

Natah  Otann’s  horse  uttered  a snort 
of  pain,  and  started  at  full  gallop.  Ten 
minutes  later  all  the  Indians  had  disap- 
peared, and  solitude  and  silence  prevail- 
ed round  the  Tree  of  the  Master  of  Life. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

AMERICAN  HOSPITALITY. 

Matters  had  reached  this  point  at 
the  moment  when  the  story,  we  have 
undertaken  to  tell,  begins  : now  that  we 
have  supplied  these  indispensable  ex- 
planations, we  will  take  up  our  narra- 
tive again  at  the  point  where  we  broke 
it  off. 

John  Black  and  his  family,  posted 
behind  the  barricade  that  surrounded 
the  camp,  regarded  with  joy,  mingled 
with  alarm,  the  cavalcade  coming  to- 
ward them  like  a tornado,  raising  clouds 
of  dust  in  its  passage. 

“ Attention,  boys !”  the  American 
said  to  his  son  and  servants,  with  his 
hand  on  his  trigger.  “ You  know  the 
diabolical  trickery  of  these  apes  of  the 
prairie.  We  must  not  let  them  sur- 
prise us  a second  time ; at  the  least  sus- 
picious sign,  a bullet!  We  shall  thus 
prove  to  them  that  we  are  on  our 
guard.” 


The  emigrant’s  wife  and  daughter, 
with  their  eyes  fixed  on  the  prairie,  at- 
tentively followed  the  movements  of 
the  Indians. 

“You  are  mistaken,  my  love,”  Mrs. 
Black  said,  “ these  men  have  no  hostile 
designs.  The  Indians  rarely  attack  by 
day ; when  they  do  so,  they  never  come 
so  openly  as  this.” 

“ The  more  so,”  the  young  lady 
added,  “ as,  if  I am  not  mistaken,  I can 
see  Europeans  galloping  at  the  head  of 
the  party.” 

“ Oh  !”  Black  said,  “ that  really  has 
no  significance,  my  child.  The  prairies 
swarm  with  scoundrels  who  join  those 
demons  of  redskins  when  honest  travel- 
lers are  to  be  plundered.  Who  knows, 
indeed,  whether  white  men  were  nob 
the  instigators  of  last  night’s  attack  ]” 

“ Oh,  father,  I never  could  believe 
such  a thing  as  that,”  Diana  remarked. 

Miss  Black,  of  whom  we  have  hither- 
to said  but  little,  was  a girl  of  about 
seventeen,  tall  and  slender ; her  large 
black  eyes,  bordered  with  velvety 
lashes,  the  thick  bandeaux  of  brown 
hair,  her  little  mouth,  with  its  rosy  lips 
and  pearly  teeth,  made  her  a charming 
creature,  who  would  have  been  an  orna- 
ment anywhere,  but  in  the  desert  must 
naturally  attract  attention.  Religiously 
educated  by  her  mother,  a good  and 
pious  Presbyterian,  Diana  still  retained 
all  the  candor  and  innocence  of  youth, 
combined  with  that  experience  of  every- 
day life  imparted  by  the  rude  life  of  the 
clearings,  where  people  begin  early  to 
think  and  act  for  themselves.  In  the 
meanwhile  the  cavalcade  rapidly  ap- 
proached, and  was  now  no  great  dis- 
tance off. 

“ Those  are  really  our  animals  gal- 
loping down  there,”  Will  said, “I  recog- 
nize Sultan,  my  good  horse.” 

“And  Dolly,  my  poor  milch  cow,” 
Mrs.  Black  said,  with  a sigh. 

“Console  yourselves,”  Diana  said, 
“ I’ll  answer  for  it  that  these  people  are 
bringing  back  our  cattle.” 

Ttie  emigrant  shook  his  head  in 
agitation. 

“ The  Indians  never  give  up  what 
they  have  once  seized.  But,  by  my 
soul,  I’ll  have  it  out  with  them,  and  not 


78 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


let  myself  be  robbed  without  a trial  for 
it.” 

“Wait  a minute,  father,”  said  Will, 
stopping  him,  for  the  emigrant  was 
about  to  leap  over  the  intrenchments, 
“ we  shall  soon  know  what  their  inten- 
tions are.” 

“Hum  ! they  are  very  clear,  in  my 
| idea.  The  demons  want  to  propose  to 
us  some  disgusting  bargain  ?” 

“ Perhaps,  father,  you  are  mistaken,” 
Diana  said  quickly  ; “ and  see  they  are 
stopping,  and  apparently  consulting.” 

In  fact,  on  arriving  within  gunshot, 
the  Indians  halted,  and  began  talking 
together. 

“Why  shall  we  not  go  on?”  the 
Count  asked  Brighteye. 

“ Hum,  you  don’t  know  the  Yankees, 
Mr.  Edward.  I am  sure  that  were  we 
to  go  ten  paces  further,  we  should  be 
saluted  by  a shower  of  bullets.” 

“ Nonsense,”  the  young  man  said, 
with  a shrug  of  his  shoulder:  “they 
are  not  so  mad  as  to  act  in  that  way.” 

“ It’s  possible;  but  they  would  do  as 
I tell  you.  Look  attentively,  and  you 
will  see  from  this  spot  the  barrels  of 
their  rifles  glistening  between  the  stakes 
of  the  barricades.” 

“By  Jove!  it’s  true;  then  they 
want  to  be  massacred.” 

“ They  would  have  been  so  long  ago, 
had  not  my  brother  interceded  in  their 
favor,”  Natah  Otann  said,  joining  in  the 
conversation. 

“ And  1 thank  you,  chief.  The  de- 
sert is  large  ; what  harm  can  those  poor 
devils  do  you.” 

“They,  none;  but  presently  others 
will  come  and  settle  by  their  side,  and 
so  on  ; so  that  in  six  months  my  broth- 
er would  see  a city  at  a spot  where 
there  is  now  nothing  but  nature  as  it 
left  the  omnipotent  hands  of  the  Master 
J of  Life.” 

“ That  is  true,”  Brighteye  said,  “ the 
Yankees  respect  nothing  ; the  rage  for 
building  cities  renders  them  dangerous 
madmen.” 

“ Why  have  we  stopped,  chief?”  the 
Count  said,  recurring  to  his  first  ques- 
tion.” 

“ To  negotiate.” 

“ W ill  you  do  me  a kindness  ? Leave 
this  business  to  me.  1 am  curious  to 


see  how  these  people  understand  the 
laws  of  war,  and  how  they  will  receive 
me.” 

“ My  brother  is  free.” 

“ Wait  for  me  here,  then,  and  do  not 
make  a move  during  my  absence.” 

The  young  man  took  off  his  weapons, 
which  he  handed  to  his  servant. 

“What?”  Ivon  remarked.  “Are 
you  going,  my  lord,  in  this  state  among 
those  heretics  ?” 

“ How  else  should  I go  ? You  know 
very  well  that  a flag  of  truce  has  noth- 
ing to  fear.” 

“ That  is  possible,”  the  Breton  said, 
very  slightly  convinced  ; “ but  if  your 
lordship  will  believe  me,  you  will  at 
least,  keep  your  pistols  in  your  belt ; 
for  an  accident  happens  so  easily,  and 
you  do  not  know  among  what  sort  of 
people  you  are  going.” 

“ You  are  mad  !”  the  Count  said 
shrugging  his  shoulders. 

“ Well  then,  as  you  are  going  un- 
armed to  speak  with  people  who  do  not 
inspire  me  wilh  the  slightest  confidence 
I must  ask  your  lordship  to  permit  me 
to  accompany  you.” 

“You,  nonsense!”  the  young  man 
said,  laughing.  “ You  know  very  well 
that  you  are  a wonderful  coward  ; that’s 
agreed  on.” 

“ Perfectly  true  ; but  I feel  capable 
of  anything  to  defend  my  master.” 

“There  we  have  it;  your  cowardice 
need  only  come  on  you  suddenly,  and 
in  your  alarm,  you  will  be  ready  to 
kill  everybody.  No,  no,  none  of  that ; 
1 do  not  wish  to  get  into  trouble  through 
you.” 

And  dismounting,  he  walked  in  the 
direction  of  the  barricades.  On  arriv- 
ing a short  distance  from  them,  he  took 
out  a white  handkerchief,  and  waved  it 
in  the  air.  Black,  still  ready  to  fire, 
carefully  watched  the  Count’s  every 
movement,  and  when  he  saw  his  amica- 
ble demonstration,  he  rose,  and  made 
him  a signal  to  come  on.  The  young 
man  quietly  returned  his  handkerchief 
to  his  pocket,  lit  a cigar,  stuck  his  glass 
in  his  eye,  and  after  drawing  on  his 
gloves,  walked  resolutely  on.  On  reach- 
ing the  entrenchments,  he  found  himself 
in  front  of  Black,  who  was  waiting  for 
him,  leaning  on  his  rifle. 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


70 


“What  do  you  want  of  me?”  the 
American  said  roughly.  “ Make  haste  ! 

I have  no  time  to  lose  in  conversation.” 
The  Count  surveyed  him  haughtily, 
assumed  the  most  insolent  posture  he 
could  select,  and  puffing  a cloud  of 
smoke  in  his  face,  said,  dryly : 

“ You  are  not  polite,  my  dear  fel- 
low.” 

“ Halloa  !”  the  other  said.  “Have 
you  come  here  to  insult  me  ?” 

“ 1 have  come  to  do  you  a service ; 
and  if  you  continue  in  that  tone,  I am 
afraid  I shall  be  obliged  not  to  do  it.” 

“ We’ll  see  to  that — do  me  a service  ! 
and  what  may  it  be?”  the  American 
asked,  with  a grin. 

“ You  are  a low  fellow,”  the  Count 
remarked,  “ with  whom  it  is  offensive  to 
talk.  I prefer  to  withdraw.” 

“ Withdraw — oh,  nonsense  ! You 
are  too  valuable  a hostage.  I shall 
keep  you,  my  gentleman,  and  only  give 
you  up  at  a good  figure,”  the  American 
continued. 

“ What ! Is  that  the  way  you  com- 
prehend the  law  of  nations  ? That’s 
curious,”  the  Count  said,  still  sarcastic. 

“ There  is  no  law  of  nations  with 
bandits.” 

“ Thanks  for  your  compliment,  mas- 
ter. And  what  would  you  do  to  keep 
me,  if  I did  not  think  proper  ?” 

“ Like  this,”  the  American  said,  lay- 
ing his  hand  roughly  on  his  shoulder. 

“ What  ?”  the  Count  said.  “ I real- 
ly believe,  heaven  forgive  me  ! that  you 
dared  to  lay  a hand  on  me!” 

And  ere  the  emigrant  had  time  to 
prevent  it,  he  seized  him  round  the 
waist,  lifted  him  from  the  ground,  and 
hurled  him  over  the  barricade.  The 
giant  fell  all  bruised  in  the  middle  of 
his  camp.  Instead  of  withdrawing  as 
any  other  might  have  done  in  his  place, 
the  young  man  crossed  his  arms,  and 
waited,  smoking  peacefully.  The  emi- 
grant, stunned  by  his  rough  fall,  rose, 
shaking  himself  like  a wet  dog,  and  feel- 
ing his  ribs,  to  assure  himself  that  there 
was  nothing  broken.  The  ladies  uttered 
a cry  of  terror  on  seeing  him  re-enter 
the  camp  in  such  a peculiar  way,  while 
his  son  and  servants  looked  toward  him, 
ready  to  fire  at  the  first  signal. 

“ Lower  your  guns,”  he  said  to  them ; 


and  leaping  once  more  over  the  barri- 
cade, he  walked  towards  the  Count. 
The  latter  awaited  him  with  perfect 
calmness. 

“ Ah  ! there  you  are,”  he  said.  “ Well, 
how  did  you  like  that?” 

“Come,  come,”  the  American  re- 
plied, holding  out  his  hand  ; “ I was  in 
the  wrong;  l am  a brute  beast;  forgive 
me.”  i 

“ Very  good  ; I like  you  better  like 
that ; we  only  need  to  understand  each 
other.  You  are  now  prepared  to  listen 
to  me,  I fancy  ?” 

“ Quite.” 

There  are  certain  men,  like  John 
Black,  with  whom  it  is  necessary  to  em- 
ploy extreme  measures,  and  prove  your 
superiority  to  them.  With  such  per- 
sons you  do  not  argue,  but  smash  them  ; 
after  which  it  always  happens  that  these 
men,  before  so  untractable,  become 
gentle  as  lambs,  and  do  all  you  want. 
The  American,  possessed  of  great 
strength,  and  confiding  in  it,  thought  he 
had  a right  to  be  insolent  with  a slight 
and  weak-looking  man  ; but  so  soon  as 
this  man  had  proved  to  him,  in  a per- 
emptory manner,  that  he  was  the  more 
powerful  of  the  two,  the  bull  drew  in 
his  horns,  and  recoiled  all  the  distance 
he  had  advanced. 

“ This  night,”  the  Count  then  said, 
“you  were  attacked  by  the  Blackfeet ; 

I wished  to  come  to  your  aid,  but  it 
was  impossible,  and,  besides,  I should 
have  arrived  too  late.  As,  however, 
for  some  reason  or  other,  the  men  who 
attacked  you  feel  a certain  amount  of 
consideration  for  me,  1 have  profited  by 
my  influence  to  make  them  restore  the 
cattle  they  stole  from  you.” 

“ Thanks ; believe  that  I sincerely 
regret  what  has  passed  between  us  ; but 
I was  so  annoyed  by  the  loss  I had  ex- 
perienced.” 

“ I understand  all  that,  and  willingly 
pardon  you,  the  more  so  as  I,  perhaps, 
gave  you  rather  too  rude  a shock  just 
now.” 

“ Oh,  do  not  mention  it,  I beg.” 

“ As  you  please ; it  is  all  the  same 
to  me.” 

“ And  my  cattle  ?” 

“ Are  at  your  disposal.  Will  you 
have  them  at  once  ?” 


80 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


“ I will  not  conceal  from  you  that — ” 
“Very  good,”  the  Count  interrupted 
him  ; “ wait  a minute,  I will  tell  them 
to  bring  them  up.” 

“ Ho  you  think  I have  nothing  to  fear 
from  the  Indians'?” 

“ Not  if  you  know  how  to  manage 
them.” 

“ Well,  then,  shall  I wait  for  you'?” 

“ Only  a few  minutes.’7 
The  Count  went  down  the  hill  again 
with  the  same  calm  step  he  had  gone 
up  it.  So  soon  as  he  rejoined  the  In- 
dians, his  friends  surrounded  him  ; they 
had  seen  all  that  passed,  and  were  de- 
lighted at  the  way  in  which  he  had  ended 
the  discussion. 

“ Good  heavens  ! how  coarse  those 
Americans  are,”  the  young  man  said. 
“ Pray  give  him  his  cattle,  chief,  and 
let  us  have  done  with  him.  The  ani- 
mal all  but  put  me  in  a passion.” 

“ He  is  coming  toward  us,”  Natah 
Otann  replied,  with  an  undefinable 
smile.  Black,  indeed,  soon  came  up. 
The  worthy  emigrant,  having  been  duly 
scolded  by  his  wife  and  daughter,  had 
recognized  the  full  extent  of  his  stupid- 
ity, and  was  most  anxious  to  repair  it. 

“ Really,  gentlemen,”  he  said,  “ we 
cannot  part  in  this  way.  I owe  you 
great  obligations,  and  am  desirous  to 
prove  to  you  that  I am  not  such  a brute 
as  I probably  seem  to  be.  Be  kind 
enough  to  stay  with  us,  if  only  for  an 
hour,  to  show  us  that  you  bear  no 
malice.” 

This  invitation  was  given  in  a hearty, 
but,  at  the  same  time,  cordial  manner, 
and  it  was  so  evident  that  the  good  man 
was  confused,  that  the  Count  had  not 
the  heart  to  refuse  him. 

The  Indians  camped  where  they  were. 
The  chief  and  the  three  hunters  follow- 
ed the  American  into  his  camp,  where 
the  cattle  had  already  been  restored. 
The  reception  was  as  it  should  be  in 
the  desert ; the  ladies  had  hastily  pre- 
pared refreshments  under  the  tent,  as 
William  and  the  two  serving  men  made 
a breach  in  the  barricade,  to  give  pas- 
sage to  his  father’s  guests.  Lucy  Black 
and  Diana  awaited  the  new  comers  at 
the  entrance  of  the  camp. 

“ You  are  welcome,  gMitlemen,”  the 
American’s  wife  said,  with  a graceful 


bow  ; “ we  are  all  so  much  indebted  to 
you,  that  we  are  only  too  happy  to  re- 
ceive you.” 

The  chief  and  the  Count  bowed  po- 
litely to  the  lady,  who  was  doing  all  in 
her  power  to  repair  the  clumsy  brutali- 
ty of  her  husband.  The  Count,  at  the 
sight  of  Diana,  felt  an  emotion  which 
he  could  not,  at  the  first  blush,  under- 
stand ; his  heart  beat  on  regarding  this 
charming  creature,  who  was  exposed  to 
so  many  dangers  through  the  life  to 
which  she  was  condemned.  Diana 
blushed  at  the  ardent  gaze  of  the  young 
man,  and  timidly  drew  nearer  her  moth- 
er, with  that  instinct  of  modesty  innate 
in  woman’s  heart,  which  makes  her  ev- 
er seek  protection  from  her  to  whom 
she  owes  existence. 

After  the  first  compliments,  Natah 
Otann,  the  Count  and  Brighteye,  enter- 
ed the  tent  where  Black  and  his  son  were 
awaiting  them.  When  the  ice  was  bro- 
ken, which  does  not  take  long  among 
people  accustomed  to  prairie  life,  the 
conversation  became  more  animated 
and  intimate. 

“So,”  the  Count  asked,  “you  have 
left  the  clearings  with  the  intention  of 
never  returning  ?” 

“ Oh,  yes,”  the  emigrant  answered  ; 
“ for  a man  having  a family  everything 
is  becoming  so  dear  on  the  frontier,  that 
he  must  make  up  his  mind  to  enter  the 
desert.” 

“ I can  understand  your  doing  so  as 
a man,  for  you  can  always  manage  to 
get  out  of  difficulties  ; but  your  wife 
and  daughter — you  condemn  them  to  a 
very  sorrowful  and  dangerous  life.” 

“ It  is  a wife’s  first  duty  to  follow 
her  husband,”  Mrs.  Black  said,  with  a 
slight  accent  of  reproach.  “ I am  hap- 
py wherever  he  is,  provided  I am  by  his 
side.” 

“ Good,  madam  ; I admire  such  sen- 
timents ; but  permit  me  an  observa- 
tion.” 

“ Certainly,  sir.” 

“ Was  it  necessary  to  come  so  far  to 
find  a suitable  farm  V * 

“ Certainly  not  ; but  we  should  have 
run  the  risk  of  being  some  day  expelled 
by  the  owners  of  the  land,  and  compell 
ed  to  begin  a new  plantation  further 
away,  she  said. 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


81 


“ While  now,”  Black  continued,  “ at 
the  place  where  we  are,  we  have  noth- 
ing of  that  sort  to  fear,  as  the  land  be- 
longs to  nobody.” 

“ My  brother  is  mistaken,”  the  chief 
said,  who  had  not  yet  spoken  a word  ; 
“ the  country,  for  ten  days’  march  in  ev- 
ery direction,  belongs  to  me  and  my 
jtribe  ; the  paleface  is  here  on  the  hunt- 
-ing-grounds  of  the  Kenhas.” 

Black  regarded  Natah  Otann  with  an 
air  of  embarrassment. 

“ Well,”  he  said,  after  a moment’s 
pause,  as  if  speaking  against  the  grain  ; 
“ we  will  go  further,  wife.” 

“ W here  can  the  palefaces  go  to  find 
land  that  belongs  to  nobody  ?”  the 
chief  continued,  severely. 

This  time  the  American  had  not  a 
word  to  say.  Diana,  who  had  never 
before  seen  an  Indian  so  close,  regarded 
the  chief  with  a mingled  feeling  of  cu- 
riosity and  terror.  The  Count  smiled. 

“ The  chief  is  right,”  Brighteye  said, 
“ the  prairies  belong  to  the  red  men.” 
Black  had  bowed  his  head  on  his  chest, 
in  perplexity. 

“ What  is  to  be  done  ?”  he  muttered. 

Natah  Otann  laid  his  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

“ Let  my  brother  open  his  ears, ; he 
said  to  him  ; “ a chief  is  now  about  to 
speak.” 

The  American  fixed  an  enquiring 
glance  on  him. 

“ Does  this  country  suit  my  brother, 
then?”  the  Indian  continued. 

“ Why  should  I deny  it  ? This  coun- 
try is  the  finest  I ever  saw  ; close  to 
me  1 have  the  river,  behind  me,  im- 
mense virgin  forests.  Oh,  yes,  it  is  a 
fine  country,  and  I should  have  made 
a magnificent  plantation.” 

“ 1 have  told  my  paleface  brother,” 
the  chief  went  on,  “ that  this  country 
belonged  to  me.” 

“Yes,  you  told  me  so,  chief,  and  it  is 
true  ; I cannot  deny  it.” 

“Well,  if  the  pale-face  desires  it,  he 
can  obtain  so  much  ground  as  he  wish- 
es,” Natah  Otann  said,  concisely. 

At  this  proposition,  which  the  Amer- 
ican was  far  from  expecting,  he  pricked 
up  his  ears ; the  squatter’s  nature  was 
aroused  in  him. 


“ How  can  . buy  the  land  when  I pos- 
sess nothing  ?”  he  said. 

“ That  is  of  no  consequence,”  the 
chief  replied. 

The  astonishment  became  general  ; 
each  looked  at  the  Indian  curiously  ; 
for  the  conversation  had  suddenly  ac- 
quired a grave  importance  which  no 
one  suspected.  Black,  however,  was 
not  deceived  by  this  apparent  facility. 

“The  chief  has  doubtless  not  under- 
stood me,”  he  said. 

The  Indian  shook  his  head. 

“ The  paleface  cannot  buy  the  land 
because  he  has  nothing  to  pay  for  it ; 
these  were  his  words.” 

“True;  and  the  chief  answered  that 
it  was  of  little  matter.” 

“ l said  so.” 

There  was  no  mistake,  the  two  men 
had  clearly  understood  one  another. 

“ There  is  some  deviltry  behind 
that,”  Brighteye  muttered  in  his  mous- 
tache ; “an  Indian  does  i.otgive  an  egg, 
unless  he  expects  an  ox  in  return.” 

“ What  do  you  want  to  arrive  at, 
chief?”  the  Count  asked  Natah  Otann 
frankly. 

“ I will  explain  myself,”  the  latter 
said  ; “ my  brother  interests  hirnself  in 
this  family,  I believe  ?” 

“ I do,”  the  young  man  answered, 
with  some  surprise,  “ and  you  know  my 
reasons.” 

“ Good ; let  my  brother  pledge  him- 
self to  accompany  me  during  two 
moons  without  asking  any  explanation 
of  my  actions,  and  give  me  his  aid 
whenever  I require  it,  and  1 will  give 
this  man  as  much  ground  as  he  needs  to 
found  a settlement,  and  he  need  never 
fear  being  annoyed  by  the  redskins,  or 
dispossessed  by  the  whites,  for  I am 
really  the  owner  of  the  land,  and  no 
other  can  lay  claim  to  it.” 

“A  moment,”  Brighteye  said,  as  he 
rose  ; “ in  my  presence,  Mr.  Edward 
will  not  accept  such  a bargain  ; no  one 
buys  a pig  in  a poke,  and  it  would  be 
madness  to  submit  his  will  to  the  capri- 
ces of  another  man.” 

Natah  Otann  frowned,  his  eye  flashed 
fire,  and  he  rose. 

“ Dog  of  the  palefaces,”  he  shouted, 
“take  care  of  thy  word',  I have  once 
spared  thy  lite.” 


82 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


“ Your  menaces  do  not  frighten  me, 
Redskin,”  the  Canadian  replied  resolute- 
ly ; “you  lie  if  you  say  that  you  were 
master  of  my  life  ; it  only  depends 
from  the  will  of  God;  you  cannot  cause 
a hair  of  my  head  to  fall  without  His 
consent.” 

Nutah  Otann  laid  his  hand  on  his 
knife,  a movement  immediately  imita- 
tated  by  the  hunter,  and  they  stood  op- 
posite each  other,  ready  for  action.  The 
ladies  uttered  a shriek  of  terror,  W illiam 
and  his  father  stood  before  them,  ready 
to  interfere  in  the  quarrel,  if  it  were  ne- 
cessary. But  the  Count  had  already, 
quick  as  thought,  thrown  himself  be- 
tween the  two  men,  shouting  loudly  : 
“ Stop,  I insist  on  it  !” 

Yielding  to  the  ascendancy  of  the 
speaker,  the  Blackfoot  and  the  Canadian 
each  fell  back  a step,  returned  their 
knives  to  their  girdles,  and  waited.  The 
Count  looked  at  them  for  a moment, 
then  holding  out  his  hand  to  Brighteye, 
said  affectionately  : 

“ Thank  you,  my  friend,  but  for  the 
present,  I do  not  require  your  aid.” 

“ Good,  good,”  the  hunter  said,  “ you 
know  I am  yours,  body  and  soul.  Mr. 
Edward,  it  is  only  deferred.” 

And  the  worthy  Canadian  sat  down 
again  quietly. 

“ As  for  you,  chief,”  the  young  man 
continued,  “ the  proposals  are  unaccept- 
able. I should  be  mad  to  agree  to  them 
and  1 hope  I am  not  quite  in  that  state 
yet.  I wish  to  teach  you  this,  that  I 
have  only  come  on  the  prairie  to  hunt 
for  a short  time  : that  time  has  passed  : 
pressing  business  requires  my  presence 
in  the  United  States,  and  dispels  my  de- 
sire to  be  useful  to  these  good  people  ; 
so  soon  as  I have  accompanied  you  to 
the  village  according  to  my  promise,  I 
shall  say  good-bye  to  you,  and  probably 
never  return.  ’ 

" Which  will  be  extremely  agreeable 
to  me,”  Brighteye  said  in  confirmation. 
The  Indian  did  not  stir. 

“ Still,”  the  Count  went  on,  “ there 
is  perhaps  a way  of  settling  the  matter 
to  the  satisfaction  of  all  parties  ; land 
is  not  so  dear  here  ; tell  me  your  price, 
and  I will  pay  you  at  once,  either  in 
dollars,  or  in  bills  on  a New  York  bank- 
er.” 


“ All  right,”  the  hunter  said,  “ there 
is  still  that  way  open.” 

“ Oh  ! I thank  you,  sir,”  Mrs.  Black 
exclaimed,  “ but  my  husband  cannot 
and  ought  not  to  accept  such  a propo- 
sal.” 

“ Why  not,  my  dear  lady  ? if  it  suits 
me,  and  the  chief  accepts  my  offer.” 

Black,  we  must  do  him  the  justice  to 
say,  satisfied  himself  by  signifying  h s 
approval  by  a gesture  ; but  the  worthy 
squatter,  like  a true  American,  was  ve- 
ry careful  not  to  say  a word.  As  for 
Diana,  fascinated  by  such  disinterested- 
ness, she  gazed  on  the  Count  with  eyes 
sparkling  with  gratitude,  not  daring  to 
express  aloud  what  her  secret  thoughts 
were  about  this  noble  and  generous  gen- 
tleman. Natah  Otann  raised  his  head. 

“ I will  prove  to  my  brother,”  he  said 
in  a gentle  voice,  and  bowing  courteous- 
ly, “ that  the  red  men  are  as  generous 
as  the  palefaces.  I sell  him  eight  hun- 
dred acres  of  land,  to  be  chosen  where 
he  pleases  along  the  river,  for  one  dol- 
lar.” 

“ A dollar  1”  the  young  man  exclaim- 
ed, in  surprise. 

“ Yes,”  the  chief  said,  smiling,  " in 
that  way  I shall  be  paid,  my  brother 
will  owe  me  nothing  ; and  if  he  con- 
sents to  stay  a little  while  with  me,  it 
will  be  of  his  own  accord,  and  because 
he  likes  to  be  with  a true  friend.” 

This  unforeseen  result  to  a scene, 
which  had  for  a moment  threatened  to 
end  in  blood,  filled  all  persons  with  sur- 
prise. Brighteye  alone  was  not  duped 
by  the  chief’s  courtesy. 

“ There’s  something  behind  it,”  he 
muttered  to  himself,  “ but  1 will  watch, 
and  th  :t  demon  must  be  very  cunning 
to  cheat  me.” 

The  Count  was  affected  by  this  gene- 
rosity, which  he  was  far  from  expecting. 

“ There,  chief,”  he  said,  handing  him 
the  stipulated  dollar,  “ now  we  are 
quits  ; but  be  assured  that  1 will  not  be 
outdone  by  you.” 

Natah  Otann  bowed  courteously. 

“ Now,”  the  Count  continued,  “ a last 
favor.” 

“ Let  my  brother  speak,  he  has  the 
right  to  ask  everything  of  me.” 

“ Make  peace  with  my  old  Bright- 
eye.” 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


83 


“ As  my  brother  desires  it,”  the  chief 
said,  “ I will  do  so  willingly  ; and,  as  a 
sign  of  reconciliation,  I beg  him  to  ac- 
cept the  dollar  you  have  given  me.” 

The  hunter’s  first  impulse  was  to  de- 
cline it;  but  he  thought  better  of  it, 
took  the  dollar,  and  carefully  placed  it 
in  his  belt.  Black  knew  not  how  to  ex- 
press his  gratitude  to  the  Count,  who 
had  really  made  him  a landed  proprie- 
tor; and  the  same  day  the  American 
and  his  son  chose  the  land  on  which  the 
plantation  should  be  established.  The 
Count  drew  up  on  a leaf  of  his  pocket- 
book  a regular  deed  of  sale,  which  was 
signed  by  himself,  Brighteye,  and  Ivon, 
as  witnesses,  by  Black  as  purchaser,  and 
at  the  foot  of  which  Natah  Otann  drew 
the  totem  of  his  tribe,  and  an  animal  in- 
tended to  represent  a bear,  which  formed 
his  speaking  but  most  emblematical 
signature.  The  chief,  had  he  pleased, 
could  have  signed  like  the  rest,  but  he 
wished  to  hide  from  all  the  instruction 
he  owed  to  the  White  Buffalo.  Black 
preciously  placed  the  deed  between  the 
leaves  of  his  family  bible,  and  said  to 
the  Count,  while  squeezing  his  hand 
hard  enough  to  smash  it : 

“ Remember  that  you  have  in  John 
Black  a man  who  will  let  his  bones  be 
broken  for  you,  whenever  you  think 
proper  ’ 

Diana  said  nothing,  but  she  gave  the 
young  man  a look  which  paid  him  amply 
for  what  he  had  done  for  the  family. 

“Attention,”  Brighteye  said,  in  a 
whisper,  the  first  time  he  found  himself 
alone  with  Ivon ; “ from  this  day  watch 
carefully  over  your  master,  for  a terrible 
danger  threatens  him.” 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  SHE-WOLF  OF  THE  PRAIRIES. 

About  four  or  five  hours  after  the 
various  events  we  have  described  in  the 
previous  chapters,  a horseman,  mounted 
on  a powerful  steed,  caparisoned  in  the 
Indian  fashion,  that  is  to  say,  bedizened 
with  feathers,  and  painted  of  glaring 
colors,  crossed  a streamlet,  and  galloped 
over  the  prairies,  proceeding  in  the 


direction  of  the  virgin  forest,  to  which 
we  have  several  times  alluded.  The 
rider,  dressed  in  the  war  costume  of  the 
Blackfoot  Indians,  and  whom  it  was 
easy  to  recognize  as  a chief  by  the  eagle 
feather  fastened  over  his  right  ear,  in- 
cessantly bent  over  his  horse’s  neck,  and 
urged  it  to  increased  speed. 

It  was  night,  and  an  American  night, 
full  of  sharp  odors  and  mysterious 
sounds,  with  a dark  blue  sky,  studded 
with  an  infinite  number  of  dazzling 
stars  ; the  moon  profusely  spread  her 
silvery  rays  over  the  landscape,  casting 
a deceitful  brightness,  which  imparted 
a fantastic  appearance  to  objects.  All 
seemed  to  sleep  on  the  prairies  ; the 
wind  even  hardly  shook  the  umbrageous 
tops  of  the  trees  ; the  wild  beasts,  after 
drinking  at  the  river,  had  returned  to 
their  hidden  dens.  The  horseman  alone 
moved  on,  gliding  silently  through  the 
darkness ; at  times  he  raised  his  head, 
as  if  consulting  the  sky,  then,  after  a 
second’s  rest,  he  galloped  onwards. 

Many  hours  passed  ere  the  horseman 
thought  of  stopping.  At  length  he 
reached  a spot  where  the  trees  were  so 
interlaced  by  creepers  which  enfolded 
them,  that  a species  of  insurmountable 
wall  suddenly  prevented  the  rider’s 
progress.  After  a moment’s  hesitation 
and  iooking  attentively  around  to  dis- 
cover a hole  by  which  he  could  pass, 
seeing  clearly  that  all  attempts  would 
be  useless,  he  dismounted.  He  saw 
that  he  had  arrived  at  a cane  brake,  or 
spot  where  passage  can  only  be  made 
by  fire  or  axe.  The  Indian  chief  fas- 
tened his  horse  to  the  trunk  of  a tree ; 
left  within  its  reach  a stock  of  grass  and 
climbing  peas  ; then,  certain  that  his 
horse  would  want  for  nothing  during 
this  long  night,  he  began  thinking  of 
himself. 

First  he  cut  down  with  his  bowie 
knife  the  bushes  and  plants  which  inter- 
fered with  the  encampment  he  wished 
to  form  ; then  he  prepared,  with  all  the 
stoicism  of  a prairie  denizen,  a fire  of 
dry  wood,  in  order  to  cook  his  supper, 
and  keep  off  wild  beasts,  if  any  one 
took  it  into  his  head  to  pay  him  a visit 
during  his  sleep.  Among  the  wood  he 
collected  was  a large  quantity  of  what 
Mexicans  call  “ palo  mulato,”  or  stink- 


84 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


ing  wood ; this  he  was  careful  to  re- 
move, for  ihe  pestiferous  smell  of  that 
tree  would  have  denounced  his  presence 
for  miles  round,  and  the  Indian,  judging 
from  the  precautions  he  took,  seemed 
afraid  of  being  discovered  ; in  fact,  the 
care  with  which  he  had  placed  sand- 
bags round  his  horse’s  hoofs  to  dull  the 
sound,  sufficiently  proved  this. 

When  the  fire,  so  placed  as  not  to 
be  visible  ten  yards  off,  poured  its  plea- 
sant column  of  flame  into  the  air,  the 
Indian  took  from  his  elk-skin  pouch  a 
little  Indian  wheat  and  pemmican, 
which  he  ate  with  considerable  appetite, 
looking  round  continually  on  the  sur- 
rounding gloom,  and  stopping  to  listen 
attentively  to  those  noiseless  sounds 
which  by  night  trouble  the  imposing 
calmness  of  the  desert,  without  any  ap- 
parent cause.  When  his  scanty  meal 
was  ended,  the  Indian  filled  his  pipe 
wi  h kinni-kinnick,  and  began  smoking. 

Still,  in  spite  of  his  apparent  calm- 
ness, the  man  was  not  easy  ; at  times 
he  took  the  pipe  from  his  lips,  looked 
up,  and  anxiously  consulted  the  sky, 
through  a break  in  the  foliage  above  his 
head.  At  length  he  appeared  to  form 
an  energetic  resolution,  and  raising  his 
fingers  to  his  lips,  imitated  thrice,  v\ ith 
rare  perfection,  the  cry  of  the  blue  jay, 
that  privileged  bird  that  sings  in  the 
night ; then  he  bent  his  body  forward 
and  listened,  but  nothing  proved  to  him 
that  his  signal  had  been  heard. 

“ Wait  a while,”  he  muttered. 

And  crouching  again  before  the  fire, 
into  which  he  threw  a handful  of  dry 
branches,  he  began  smoking  again. 
Several  hours  passed  thus  ; at  length 
the  moon  disappeared  from  the  horizon, 
the  cold  became  sharper;  and  the  sky, 
in  which  the  stars  expired  one  after  the 
other,  was  tinted  with  a rosy  hue.  The 
Indian,  who  had  been  slumbering  for  a 
while,  suddenly  shook  himself,  turned  a 
suspicious  glance  around,  and  muttered 
hoarsely, — 

“ She  cannot  be  far  off*.” 

And  he  again  gave  the  signal.  The 
last  cry  had  scarce  died  out  in  the  dis- 
tance, when  a roar  was  heard  close  by. 
The  Indian,  instead  of  being  alarmed 
by  this  ill  omened  sound,  smiled,  and 
jsaid  in  a loud  and  firm  voice, — 


“ You  are  welcome,  She- wolf ; you 
know  that  it  is  1 who  am  awaiting  you 
here.” 

“Ah  ! you  are  there,  then !”  a voice 
answered. 

A rustling  of  leaves  was  now  heard 
in  the  bushes  opposite  the  spot  where 
the  Indian  was  seated;  the  reeds  and 
creepers  were  pulled  back  by  a vigorous 
hand,  and  a woman  appeared  in  the 
space  left  free.  Before  advancing,  she 
thrust  her  head  forward  cautiously,  and 
looked. 

“I  am  alone,”  the  Indian  said;  “you 
can  approach  without  fear.” 

A smile  played  over  the  new  comer’s 
lips  at  this  answer,  which  she  did  not 
expect. 

“ I fear  nothing,”  she  said. 

Before  going  further,  we  will  give 
some  indispensable  details  about  this 
woman — vague,  it  is  true,  as  we  can 
only  supply  what  the  Indians  said 
about  her,  but  which  will  be  useful  to 
the  reader  in  comprehending  the  facts 
that  will  follow.  No  one  knew  who 
she  was  or  whence  she  came.  The 
period  when  she  was  first  seen  on  the 
prairie  was  equally  unknown.  All  was 
an  inexplicable  mystery  connected  with 
her.  Though  she  spoke  fluently,  and 
with  extreme  purity,  most  of  the 
prairie  idioms,  still  certain  words  she  at 
times  used,  and  the  color  of  her  skin, 
not  so  brown  as  that  of  the  natives, 
caused  the  supposition  that  she  belonged 
to  another  race  from  theirs.  It  was 
only  a supposition,  however,  for  her 
hatred  of  the  Indians  was  too  well 
known  for  the  bravest  among  them 
ever  to  venture  to  see  her  sufficiently 
closely  to  render  themselves  certain  on 
that  head. 

At  times  she  disappeared  for  weeks, 
even  for  months,  and  it  was  impossible 
to  discover  her  trail.  Then  she  was 
suddenly  seen  again  wandering  about, 
talking  to  herself,  marching  nearly  al- 
ways by  night,  frequently  accompanied 
by  an  idiotic  and  dumb  dwarf,  who 
followed  her  like  a dog,  and  whom  the 
Indians,  in  their  credulous  superstition, 
suspected  strongly  of  being  her  fami- 
liar. This  woman,  ever  gloomy  and 
melancholy,  with  her  wild  looks  and 
startling  gestnres,  could  not  bo  accused 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


85 


of  doing  any  one  harm,  in  spite  of  the 
general  terror  she  inspired.  Still, 
owing  to  the  strange  life  she  led,  all  the 
misfortunes  that  happened  to  the  In- 
dians, in  war  or  hunting,  were  imputed 
to  her.  The  redskins  considered  her  a 
wicked  genius,  and  had  given  her  the 
name  of  the  Spirit  of  Evil.  Hence, 
the  man  who  had  come  so  far  to  see  her 
must  necessarily  have  been  gifted  with 
extraordinary  courage,  or  some  power- 
ful reason  impelled  him  to  act  as  he 
was  doing. 

As  this  Blackfoot  chief  is  destined  to 
play  a great  part  in  this  narrative,  we 
will  give  his  portrait  in  a few  words. 
He  was  a man  who  had  reached  middle 
life,  or  about  45  years.  He  was  tall, 
well-built,  and  admirably  proportioned. 
His  muscles,  standing  out  like  whip- 
cord, denoted  extraordinary  vigor.  He 
had  an  intelligent  face  ; his  features  ex- 
pressed cunning,  while  his  eyes  were 
rarely  fixed  on  any  object,  but  gave 
him  an  expression  of  craft  and  brutal 
cruelty,  which  inspired  an  unenviable 
repugnance  towards  him,  if  you  took 
the  trouble  to  study  him  carefully  : but 
observers  are  rare  in  the  desert,  and 
with  the  Indians  this  chief  enjoyed  a 
great  reputation,  and  was  equally  be- 
loved for  his  tried  courage  and  inex- 
haustible powers  of  speech,  qualities 
highly  esteemed  by  the  redskins. 

“The  night  is  still  gloomy  ; my  mo- 
ther can  approach,”  the  Indian  chief 
said. 

“ I am  coming,”  the  woman  said, 
drily,  as  she  advanced. 

“ I have  been  waiting  a long  while.” 
“ I know  it,  but  no  matter.” 

“ The  road  was  long  to  come.” 

“ I am  here  ; speak  !” 

And  she  leaned  against  a stem  of  a 
tree,  crossing  her  arms  on  her  chest. 

“ What  can  I say,  if  my  mother  does 
not  first  question  me  ?” 

“That  is  true.  Answer  me  then.” 
There  was  a silence,  only  troubled  by 
the  wind  sighing  in  the  leaves  ; after  a 
few  moments’  reflection,  the  woman  at 
length  began, — 

“ Have  you  done  what  I ordered  ?” 
“ I have.” 

“ Well  ?” 


“ My  mother  guessed  rightly.” 

“ Is  it  so  1” 

“ All  is  preparing  for  action.” 

“ You  are  sure  ?” 

“ I was  present  at  the  council.” 

She  smiled  triumphantly. 

“ Where  was  the  meeting-place  ?” 

“ At  the  tree  of  life.” 

“ Long  ago  ?” 

“ The  sun  has  set  eight  hours  since.” 
“ Good  ! What  was  resolved  ?” 

“ What  you  already  know.” 

“The  destruction  of  the  whites'?” 

« Yes.” 

“ When  will  the  war  signal  be 
given.  V1 

“The  day  is  not  yet  fixed.” 

“ Ah  !”  she  said,  in  a tone  of  regret. 
“ But  it  cannot  be  long,”  he  added 
quickly. 

“ What  makes  you  think  so  ?” 

“ The  Grizzly  Bear  is  eager  to 
finish.” 

“ And  I,  too,”  the  woman  muttered 
in  a low  voice. 

The  conversation  was  again  broken 
off.  The  woman  paced  up  and  down 
the  clearing  in  thought.  The  chief  fol- 
lowed her  with  his  eyes,  carefully  ex- 
amining her.  All  at  once  she  stopped 
before  him  and  looked  him  in  the  face. 

“You  are  devoted  to  me,  chief  I”  she 
said. 

“ Do  you  doubt  it  V ’ 

“ Perhaps.” 

“ Still,  only  a few  hours  ago,  I gave 
you  a decided  proof  of  my  devotion.” 
“ What  V* 

“ This  !”  he  said,  pointing  to  his  left 
arm,  which  was  wrapped  in  strips  of 
bark. 

“ I do  not  understand  you.” 

“ You  see  I am  wounded  1” 

« Well!  what  then  ?” 

“ The  redskins  attacked  the  palefaces 
some  hours  ago;  they  were  scaling  the 
barricade  which  protected  their  camp, 
when  they  suddenly  retired  on  your  ap- 
pearance, by  order  of  their  chief,  who 
was  wounded,  and  thirsting  for  re 
venge.” 

“ It  is  true.” 

“ Good.  Affd  the  chief  who  com- 
manded the  redskins — does  my  mother 
know  him  ?” 


86 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


“ No.” 

“It  was  I,  the  Red  Wolf ; does  my 
mother  still  doubt  ?” 

“ The  p ith  on  which  I am  walking  is 
so  gloomy,”  she  replied  sorrowfully  ; 

“ the  work  I am  accomplishing  is  so  se- 
rious, and  of  such  import  to  me,  that  at 
times  I feel  fear  enter  my  heart,  and 
doubt  contract  my  ches%  when  I think 
I am  alone,  a poor  weak  woman,  to 
wrestle  with  a giant.  For  long  years  I 
have  been  ripening  the  plan  l wish  to 
accomplish  to-day  ; I have  occupied  my 
whole  life  to  obtain  the  result  1 desire, 
and  I fear  failure  at  the  moment  of  suc- 
ceeding. Then,  if  I have  no  longer 
confidence  in  myself,  can  I trust  a man 
whom  self-interest  may  urge  to  betray, 
or  at  any  rate  abandon  me  at  a mo- 
ment?” 

The  chief  drew  himself  up  on  hearing 
these  words  ; his  eye  flashed  fire,  and 
with  a gesture  of  wounded  pride  he 
said : 

“ Silence  ! my  mother  must  not  add 
a word.  She  insults  at  this  moment  a 
man  who  is  most  anxious  to  prove  his 
truth  to  her;  ingratitude  is  a white 
vice  gratitude,  a red  virtue.  My 
mother  was  ever  kind  to  me ; Red 
Wolf  cannot  count  the  occasions  on 
which  he  owes  his  life  to  her.  My 
mother’s  heart  is  ulcered  by  misfortune; 
solitude  is  an  evil  counselor  ; my  moth- 
er listens  too  much  to  the  voice  which 
whispers  in  her  ear  through  the  silence 
of  the  night ; she  forgets  the  services 
she  has  rendered,  only  to  remember 
the  ingratitude  she  has  sowed  on  her 
road.  Red  Wolf  is  devoted  to  her,  he 
loves  her;  the  She-Wolf  can  place  en- 
tire confidence  in  him,  he  is  worthy  of 
it.” 

“ Dare  I believe  in  those  protesta- 
. tions  ? Can  I put  faith  in  these  promi- 
ses ?”  she  muttered. 

The  chief  continued  passionately  : 

“ If  the  gratitude  I have  vowed  to  my 
mother  is  not  enough,  another  and 
stronger  tie  attaches  us,  which  must 
convince  her  of  my  sincerity.” 

“ What  is  it  ?”  she  asked,  looking 
fixedly  at  him. 

“Hatred!”  he  answered. 

“ That  is  true,”  she  said,  with  a sinis- 


ter burst  of  laughter.  " You  hate  him 
too  ?” 

“ Yes ; I hate  him  with  all  the 
strength  of  my  soul.  I hate  him,  be- 
cause he  has  robbed  me  of  two  things  1 
held  most  to  on  earth — the  love  of  the 
woman  I adored,  and  the  power  I cov- 
eted.” 

“But  are  you  not  a chief?”  she  said 
significantly.  1 

“ Yes  !”  he  exclaimed  proudly,  “ l 
am  a chief,  but  my  father  was  a sachem 
of  the  Kenhas  ; his  son  is  brave,  he  is 
crafty,  the  scalps  of  numberless  pale- 
faces dry  before  his  lodge.  Why  then 
is  Red  Wolf  only  an  inferior  chief,  in- 
stead of  leading  his  men  to  battle,  as 
his  father  did  ?” 

The  woman  seemed  to  take  a delight 
in  exciting  the  anger  of  the  Indian,  in- 
stead of  calming  it. 

“ Because  doubtlessly,”  she  said,  “ a 
wiser  man  than  the  Red  Wolf  has  gain- 
ed the  votes  of  his  brothers.” 

“ Let  my  mother  say  that  a greater 
rogue  stole  them  from  him,  and  her 
words  will  be  true,”  he  exclaimed  vio- 
lently. “ Grizzly  Bear  is  a Comanche 
dog,  the  son  of  an  exile,  received 
through  favor  into  my  tribe  ; his  scalp 
will  soon  dry  on  the  girdle  of  the  Red 
Wolf.” 

“ Patience !”  the  woman  said,  in  a 
hoarse  voice.  “ Vengeance  is  a fruit 
w'hich  is  only  eaten  ripe : the  Red 
Wolf  is  a warrior  ; he  can  wait.” 

“ Let  my  mother  order,”  the  Indian 
said,  suddenly  calmed  ; “ her  son  will 
obey.” 

“ Has  the  Red  Wolf  succeeded  in  ob- 
taining the  medicine  which  Prairie 
Flower  wears  round  her  neck  ?” 

The  Indian  bowed  his  head  in  confu- 
sion. 

“ No,”  he  said,  hoarsely.  “ Prairie 
Flower  never  leaves  the  White  Buffalo  ; 
it  is  impossible  to  approach  her.” 

The  woman  smiled  ironically. 

“ What ! did  Red  Wolf  ever  keep  a 
promise  ?” 

The  Blackfoot  shuddered  with  rage. 

“ I will  have  it,”  he  cried,  “ even  if  I 
must  use  force  in  obtaining  it.” 

“No,”  she  replied;  “cunning  alone 
must  be  employed.” 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


87 


“1  will  have  it,”  he  repeated.  “Be- 
fore two  days  I will  give  it  to  my 
mother.” 

“ No,”  she  said,  quickly  ; “ in  two 
days  is  too  soon.  Let  my  son  give  it 
me  on  the  fifth  day  of  the  new  moon, 
which  will  begin  within  three  days.5’ 

“ Good ; I swear  it ! My  mother 
1 shall  have  the  great  medicine  of  Prairie 
Flower.” 

“ My  son  will  bring  it  to  me  at  the 
tree  of  the  bear,  near  the  great  lodge 
of  the  pale  faces,  two  hours  after  sun- 
set. I will  await  him  there,  aud  give 
him  my  final  instructions.” 

“Red  Wolf  will  be  there.” 

“ Till  then,  my  son  will  carefully 
watch  every  movement  of  the  Grizzly 
Bear.  If  he  learns  anything  new,  which 
appears  to  him  important,  my  son  will 
form  on  this  very  spot  a pyramid  of 
seven  buffalo  heads,  and  come  back  two 
hours  after  to  wait  for  me.  I shall 
have  understood  his  signal,  and  will  re- 
ply to  his  summons.” 

“ Oche,  my  mother  is  powerful ; it 
shall  be  as  she  desires.” 

“ My  son  has  quite  understood  ?” 

“ The  words  of  my  mother  have  fallen 
on  the  ears  of  a chief;  his  mind  has  re- 
ceived them.” 

“ The  sky  on  the  horizon  is  co  vered 
with  red  bands,  the  sun  will  soon  ap- 
pear : let  my  brother  return  to  his 
tribe  ; he  must  not  arouse  the  suspicions 
of  his  enemy  by  his  absence.” 

“I  go ; but  before  leaving  my 
mother,  whose  wisdom  has  discovered 
all  the  schemes  of  the  pale  faces,  has 
she  not  made  a great  medicine  to  know 
if  our  enterprise  will  succeed,  and  if  we 
shall  conquer  our  enemy  ?” 

At  this  moment  a loud  noise  was 
heard  in  the  cane-brake,  and  a shrill 
whistle  traversed  the  air  ; the  Indian’s 
horse  laid  back  its  ears,  made  violent 
efforts  to  break  the  rope  that  fastened 
it,  and  trembled  all  over.  The  woman 
seized  the  chief’s  arm  firmly,  and  said, 
in  a gloomy  voice  : 

“ Let  my  brother  look  !” 

Red  Wolf  stifled  a cry  of  surprise, 
and  gazed,  motionless  and  terrified,  at 
the  strange  sight  before  him.  A few 
paces  off,  a tiger-cat  and  a rattle-snake 
were  preparing  for  a contest.  Their 


metallic  eyes  flashed,  and  seemed  to 
emit  flames.  The  tiger-cat,  crouching 
on  a branch,  with  hair  erect,  was  miau- 
ing  and  spitting,  while  closely  following 
every  move  of  its  dangerous  enemy, 
and  awaiting  the  moment  to  attack  it 
advantageously.  The  crotalus,  coiled 
up,  and  forming  an  enormous  spiral, 
with  its  hideous  head  thrown  back, 
whistled,  as  it  balanced  itself  to  the 
right  and  left,  with  a movement  full  of 
suppleness  and  grace,  apparently  trying 
to  fascinate  its  enemy. 

But  the  latter  did  not  allow  it  a long 
rest  ; it  suddenly  bounded  on  the  ser- 
pent, which,  however,  moved  nimbly  on 
one  side,  and  when  the  cat,  after  missing 
its  leap,  returned  to  the  charge,  gave  it 
a fearful  sting  on  the  face. 

The  tiger-cat  uttered  a yell  of  rage, 
and  buried  its  long  and  sharp  claws  in 
the  eyes  of  the  serpent,  which,  howev- 
er, wound  round  its  enemy  with  a con- 
vulsive movement.  Then  the  two  rolled 
on  the  ground,  hissing  and  howling,  but 
unable  to  loose  their  hold.  The  strug- 
gle was  long  ; they  fought  with  extra- 
ordinary fury  ; but  at  length,  the  rings 
of  the  snake  became  unloosened,  and  its 
flaccid  body  lay  motionless  on  the 
ground.  The  tiger-cat  escaped,  with  a 
miaow  of  triumph,  from  the  monster’s 
terrible  embrace,  and  bounded  on  a 
tree  ; but  its  strength  was  unequal  to 
its  will,  and  it  could  not  reach  the  limb 
on  which  it  wished  to  climb,  but  fell 
back  exhausted  on  the  ground.  Then, 
the  ferocious  animal,  struggling  with 
death,  and  overcoming  its  agony, 
crouched  back  to  the  body  of  its  enemy 
and  stood  upon  it.  it  then  uttered  a fi- 
nal yell  of  triumph,  and  fell,  itself  a 
corpse,  by  the  side  of  the  snake.  The 
Indian  had  followed  all  the  moving  inci- 
dents of  this  cruel  contest  with  ever-in- 
creasing interest. 

“ W ell,”  he  asked  the  unknown. 
“ what  does  my  mother  say  V9 

She  shook  her  head. 

“ Our  triumph  will  cost  us  our  life,” 
she  replied. 

“ What  matters  V9  the  Red  Wolf 
said,  “ so  long  as  we  conquer  our  ene- 
mies !” 

And,  drawing  his  knife,  he  began 
skinning  the  catamount.  The  woman 


88 


TIIE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


looked  at  his  operations  for  awhile  ; 
then  making  him  a parting  sign,  she  re- 
entered the  cane-brake,  where  she  was 
speedily  lost  to  view.  An  hour  later, 
the  Indian  chief,  laden  with  the  cat’s 
head  and  the  snake’s  skin,  started  off 
towards  his  village  at  full  gallop.  An 
ironical  smile  played  around  his  lips  ; 
he  needed  no  excuse  to  explain  his  ab- 
sence, for  the  spoils  he  brought  with 
him  proved  that  he  had  spent  the  night 
iu  hunting. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  VILLAGE  OF  THE  KENHAS. 

Now  that  the  exigencies  of  our  tale 
oblige  us  to  go  into  particulars  concern- 
ing the  Indian  possessors  of  the  Mis- 
souri wilds,  we  will  acquaint  the  reader 
with  the  original  population  of  that  ter- 
ritory, generally  styled  the  Blackfeet. 
The  Blackfeet  formed  at  the  period  of 
our  story,  a powerful  nation  divided  in- 
to three  tribes,  all  speaking  the  same 
tongue. 

First  come  the  Siksekai  or  Blackfeet 
proper,  as  their  name  denotes.  Next, 
the  Kenhas,  or  Blood  Indians.  Lastly, 
the  Piekanns. 

The  Americans  give  to  these  Indians 
names  slightly  different  from  ours — 
they  are  wrong  ; we  preserve  the  exact 
pronunciation,  the  same,  during  our  stay 
on  the  prairies,  we  have  many  a time 
heard  from  the  very  mouths  of  the 
Blackfeet. 

This  nation  could,  when  all  three 
tribes  were  joined,  send  forth  eight  thou- 
sand warriors,  which  makes  the  whole 
population  about  twenty-five  thousand 
souls.  But  now  the  small  pox  has  de- 
cimated these  Indians  and  reduced  them 
to  a much  lower  figure  than  we  have 
put  them  at. 

The  Blackfeet  roam  the  country  skirt- 
ing the  Rocky  Mountains,  sometimes 
on  and  along  the  mountains  themselves, 
between  the  three  branches  of  the  Mis- 
souri, Gallatin,  Jefferson,  and  Madison 
rivers.  They  go  to  the  Marias  river  to 
trade  with  the  North  American  Fur 
Company,  aiso  with  the  Hudson’s  Bay 


Company,  and  even  the  Mexicans  of 
Santa  Fe. 

In  addition,  this  nation  continually 
warring  with  the  whites,  whom  it  at- 
tacks whenever  the  chance  arises,  is 
very  little  known  and  considerably 
shunned,  on  account  of  its  skit  fullness 
in  horse-stealing,  and  more  than  all,  of 
its  cruelty  and  notorious  breaking  of 
faith.  i 

We  have  to  deal  principally  with  the 
Kenhas  in  this  work,  and  hence  with 
them  we  particularly  apply  ourselves. 

The  following  is  the  origin  of  the 
name  of  Blood  Indians  given  to  the 
Kenhas. 

Before  the  Blackfeet  became  dis- 
persed, they  camped  once  by  chance  a 
little  way  from  seven  or  eight  hundred 
wigwams  of  some  Sac  Indians,  a quar- 
rel arose  between  these  latter  and  the 
Kenhas,  on  account  of  a woman  abduct- 
ed by  the  Sacs  in  spite  of  the  Piekanns’ 
resistance ; the  Kenhas  resolved  to  kill 
their  neighbors,  a project  which  they 
carried  out  with  extraordinary  cruelty 
and  ferocity.  They  entered,  m the 
middle  of  the  night,  the  tents  of  the 
Sacs,  massacred  their  victims  du/ing 
sleep,  without  sparing  even  the  women, 
children,  or  old  men  ; they  scalped  their 
victims,  and  returned  to  their  camp  after 
having  washed  hands  and  face  in  the 
blood. 

The  Piekanns  reproached  them  for 
this  act  of  barbarity,  a quarrel  sprang 
up  which  grew  into  a fight,  at  the  sequel 
of  which  the  three  Blackfeet  tribes  sep- 
erated. 

The  Kenhas  thereupon,  received  the 
name  of  Blood  Indians,  which  they  still 
preserve,  and  which  they  plume  them- 
selves upon,  saying,  no  one  shall,  insult 
them  with  impunity. 

The  Kenhas  are  the  least  tractable  of 
all  their  nation  ; they  have  always 
shown,  under  all  circumstances,  a more  • 
rapacious  and  sanguinary  turn  of  mind 
than  the  other  members  of  their  nation, 
for  the  Piekanns  enjoy  the  first  repu- 
tation of  being  comparatively  gentle 
and  like  human  beings. 

The  three  Blackfeet  tribes,  living 
commonly  far  from  one  another,  Natali 
Otann  had  to  employ  much  cunning, 
and  use  great  patience,  to  succeed  in 


T1IE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


89 


bringing  them  to  unite  and  march  under 
the  same  banner.  Every  moment*  he 
was  compelled  to  put  into  operation  all 
the  resources  his  mind,  fertile  in  expe- 
dients, could  procure  him,  and  to  prove 
his  diplomacy,  in  order  to  prevent  a 
rupture,  continually  imminent,  between 
these  men,  who  were  by  no  bond  bound 
together,  and  whose  stormy  pride  re- 
volted at  the  faintest  symptom  of  hu- 
miliation. 

It  was  to  the  principal  summer  vil- 
lage of  the  Ken  has,  situated  not  far 
from  Fort  Mackenzie,  one  of  the  lead- 
ing depots  of  the  North  American  Fur 
Company,  that  Natali  Otann  had  deter- 
mined to  take  the  Count  de  Beaulieu 
and  his  companions,  after  the  events 
which  had  taken  place  in  the  pioneer’s 
camp. 

Only  a year  before,  the  Kenhas  had 
built  a vil.age  near  the  fort. 

This  proximity  had,  at  first,  disturbed 
the  Americans  ; but  the  conduct  of  the 
Blackfeet  had  always  been,  in  appear- 
ance at  least,  so  fair  and  open  in  their 
dealings  with  the  whites,  that  the  latter 
had  not  troubled  themselves  about  their 
led  neighbors  except  to  buy  their  pel- 
tries, sell  them  whisky,  and  go  to  their 
village  to  amuse  themselves  whenever 
the  inclination  seized  them. 

After  having,  as  we  have  seen,  sold 
to  John  Black  and  his  family  an  im- 
mense quantity  of  ground  for  a dollar, 
Natah  Otann  had  reminded  the  Count 
of  the  pledge  he  had  given  him  to  go 
with  him  to  his  tribe;  and  the  young 
man,  although  inwardly  enraged  against 
the  obligation  in  which  he  had  accepted 
this  invitation,  which  so  closely  resem- 
bled an  order,  had  nevertheless  agreed 
with  good  grace,  and  after  having  taken 
leave  of  the  settler’s  family,  had  signi- 
fied to  the  chief  that  he  was  ready  to 
follow  him. 

John  Black,  his  hands  leaning  on  the 
muzzle  of  his  rifle,  was  watching  the 
Kenha  horsemen,  who,  according  to 
their  habit,  were  galloping  over  the 
prairies,  when  a rider  wheeled  round 
suddenly,  and  at  full  speed  dashed  back 
to  the  Americans’  camp. 

The  latter  with  surprise  recognized 
him  as  Brighteye,  the  veteran  woods- 
man. 


The  hnnter  reined  in  in  front  of  him. 
“ Have  you  forgotten  something  ?” 
the  pioneer  asked. 

“Yes,”  the  hunter  replied. 

“What  is  it?” 

“ To  whisper  a word  to  you,” 

“You  don’t  say?”  the  other  said,  in 
astonishment;  “ tell  me  it,  now.” 

“ I have  no  time  to  lose  in  long 
speeches ; answer  me  as  briefly  as  I 
question  you.” 

“ All  right ! go  ahead.” 

“ Are  you  thankful  for  what  my  friend 
has  done  for  you  ?” 

“ More  so  than  I know  how  to  ex- 
press.” 

“ if  he  needed  your  help,  what  wculd 
you  do  for  him” 

“ Anything — everything.” 

“Whew!  that’s  a good  deal  to  pro- 
mise.” 

“ But  it’s  less  than  I would  do ; my 
family,  my  men,  all  I own,  are  at  his 
disposal.” 

“ So  you  are  devoted  to  him  ?” 

“ Through  life  till  death  ! Whatever 
the  danger  be,  day  or  night,  on  a word 
from  him,  a sign,  I will  be  ready.” 

“ Will  you  promise  that  ?” 

“ I swear  it.” 

“ I have  your  promise.” 

“ I shall  keep  it.” 

“ Very  well.  Good  bye.” 

“ Going  already  ?” 

“ 1 must  catch  up  with  my  compan- 
ions.” 

“ Say,  have  you  suspicions  of  that 
red  man  ?” 

“ A man  should  always  be  on  his 
guard  against  Indians,”  the  hunter  ob- 
served sententiously. 

“ So  this  is  a precaution  you’re  ta- 
king ?” 

“ May  be  so.” 

“ At  all  events,  count  me  in.” 

“ I will.  Good  bye.” 

“ The  same  to  you.” 

The  two  men  understood  each  other. 
As  the  pioneer  shouldered  his  rifle 
and  returned  to  his  camp,  he  muttered  ; 

“ Woe  to  whoever  touches  a hair  of 
the  head  of  the  man  to  whom  I owe  so 
much.” 

The  Indians  had  halted  on  the  banks 
of  a small  stream,  which  they  were  pre- 


90 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


paring  to  ford  at  the  moment  when 
Brighteye  rode  up. 

Natah  Otann,busy  in  conversing  with 
the  Count,  flung  a look  sidewise  at  the 
hunter. 

“ I see,”  the  latter  muttered,  “ my 
absence  gives  you  something  to  think 
about,  and  you  would  like  to  find  out 
what  made  me  go  back  on  my  road,  but 
it  unfortunately  happens,  that  I am  not 
a bit  disposed  to  satisfy  you  on  that 
point.” 

When  the  crossing  by  fording  had 
been  accomplished,  the  Canadian  pushed 
his  horse  quietly  up  beside  the  Count’s, 
and  prevented,  by  his  presence,  the  In- 
dian chief  from  renewing  the  dialogue 
he  had  been  engaged  in  with  the  young 
F renchman. 

An  hour  was  passed,  without  one 
word  being  exchanged  between  the  trio. 

Natah  Olann,  not  knowing  how  to 
get  rid  of  the  hunter,  finally  resolved 
to  give  way  himself,  so  he  clapped  spurs 
to  his  steed,  and  rode  in  advance,  leav- 
iug  the  two  white  men  together. 

The  hunter  watched  him  speed  away, 
laughing  meanwhile  that  biting  laugh 
which  was  a distinctive  part  of  his  char- 
acter. 

“ Poor  horse  !”  he  said,  sarcastically  ; 
“ he  must  suffer  for  his  master’s  ill 
temper.” 

“ What  ill  temper  do  you  mean]” 
the  Count  said,  absently. 

“ Why,  the  chief’s,  who  is  flying  along 
over  there  in  a cloud  of  dust.” 

“ You  do  not  seem  to  have  any  sym- 
pathy for  each  other.” 

“ Indeed,  we  are  as  friendly  as  the 
grizzly  bear  and  the  jaguar.” 

“ Which  means ” 

“ That  we  have  measured  our  claws  ; 
and,  as  we  find  them  at  present  of  the 
same  strength  and  length,  we  stand  on 
the  defensive.” 

“ Do  you  feel  any  malice  against 
him  ]” 

“ I ] not  the  least  in  the  world.  I do 
not  fear  him  more  than  he  does  me ; we 
are  only  distrustful  because  we  know 
each  other.” 

“ Oh  ! oh  !”  the  young  man  said,  with 
a laugh ; “ that  conceals,  I can  see, 
something  serious.” 

Brighteye  frowned,  and  took  a scru- 


tinizing look  around.  The  Indians  were 
galloping  on  about  twenty  paces  in  the 
rear ; Ivon  alone,  though  keeping  at  a 
respectful  distance,  could  hear  the  con- 
versation between  the  two  men.  Bright 
eye  leant  over  to  the  Count,  laid  his 
hand  on  the  pommel  of  his  saddle,  and 
said,  in  a low  voice  : 

“ I do  not  like  tigers  covered  with  a 
fox’s  skin ; each  ought  to  follow  the  in- 
stincts of  his  nature,  and  not  try  to  as- 
sume others  that  are  fictitious.” 

“ I must  confess,  my  good  fellow,” 
the  young  man  replied,  “ that  you  are 
speaking  in  enigmas,  and  I cannot  un- 
derstand you  at  all.” 

“ Patience  !”  the  hunter  said,  tossing 
his  head;  “ I will  be  clear.” 

“ My  faith ! that  will  delight  me, 
Brighteye,”  the  young  man  said,  with  a 
smile;  “for  ever  since  we  have  again 
met  the  Indian  chief,  you  have  affected 
an  air  of  mystery,  which  bothers  me 
so,  that  I should  be  charmed  to  com- 
prehend you  for  once.” 

“Good!  What  do  you  think  of 
Natah  Otann  ]” 

“ Ah  ! that  is  where  you  are  galled 
still  ]” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well,  I will  reply  that  this  man  ap- 
pears to  me  extraordinary ; there  i3 
something  strange  about  him,  which  I 
cannot  understand.  In  the  first  place, 
is  he  an  Indian]” 

“ Yes.” 

“ But  he  has  travelled  ; ha  has  been 
in  white  society ; he  has  been  in  the 
interior  of  the  United  States  ]” 

The  hunter  shook  his  head. 

“ No,”  he  said,  “ he  has  never  left  his 
tribe.” 

“ Yet ” 

“ Yet,”  Brighteye  quickly  interrupted 
him,  “ he  speaks  English,  French,  and 
Spanish,  as  well  as  yourself,  .and  per- 
haps better  than  I do,  eh]  Before  his 
warriors  he  feigns  profound  ignorance  ; 
like  them,  he  trembles  at  the  sight  of 
one  of  the  results  of  civilization — a 
watch,  a musical  box,  or  even  a lucifer 
match,  eh  ]” 

“ It  is  true.” 

“ Then,  when  he  finds  himself  with 
certain  persons,  like  yourself,  for  in- 
stance, sir,  the  Indian  sudlenly  disap- 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


91 


pears,  the  savage  vanishes,  and  you  find 
yourself  in  the  presence  of  a man,  whose 
acquirements  are  almost  equal  to  your 
own,  and  who  confounds  you  by  his 
thorough  knowledge.” 

“ That  is  true.” 

“Ah,  ah!  Well,  as  you  consider 
that  extraordinary,  as  I do,  you  will 
take  your  precautions,  Mr.  Edward.” 

“ What  have  I to  fear  from  him  V’ 

“ I do  not  know  yet ; but  be  at  your 
ease  ; I shall  soon  know.  He  is  sharp, 
but  I am  not  such  a fool  as  he  fancies, 
and  am  watching  him.  For  a long 
time  this  man  has  been  playing  a game, 
about  which  I have  hitherto  troubled 
myself  but  little;  now  that  he  has 
drawn  us  into  it,  he  must  be  on  his 
guard.” 

“ But  where  did  he  learn  all  he 
knows 

“ Ah  ! that  is  a story  too  long  to  tell 
you  at  present;  but  you  shall  hear  it 
some  day.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  in  his 
tribe  there  is  an  old  chief  called  the 
White  Buffalo  ; he  is  a European,  and 
he  it  was  who  educated  the  Grizzly 
Bear.” 

“ Ah  !” 

“ Is  not  that  singular  ? A European 
of  immense  learning  ; a man  who,  in  his 
own  country,  must  have  held  a high 
rank,  and  who  thus  becomes,  of  his  own 
accord,  chief  of  the  savages  ?” 

“ Indeed,  it  is  most  extraordinary. 
Do  you  know  this  man  ?” 

“ I have  often  seen  him.  He  is  very 
aged  now ; his  beard  and  hair  are 
white  ; he  is  tall  and  majestic ; his  face 
is  fine,  his  look  profound ; there  is 
something  about  him  grand  and  impos- 
ing, which  attracts  you  against  your 
will.  Grizzly  Bear  holds  him  in  great 
veneration,  and  obeys  him  as  if  he  were 
his  son.” 

“ Who  can  this  man  be  ?” 

“ No  one  knows.  I am  convinced 
that  the  Grizzly  Bear  shares  the  general 
ignorance  on  this  head.” 

“ But  how  did  he  join  the  tribe  1” 

“ It  is  not  known.” 

“ He  must  have  been  long  with  it.” 

“ I told  you  so ; he  educated  the 
Grizzly  Bear,  and  made  a European  of 
him  instead  of  an  Indian.” 


“ All  that  is  really  strange,”  the 
Count  murmured,  having  suddenly 
grown  pensive. 

“ Is  it  not  so  ? But  that  is  not  all 
yet ; you  are  entering  a world  you  do 
not  know,  accident  throws  you  among 
interests  you  are  unacquainted  with ; 
take  care  ; weigh  well  your  words,  cal- 
culate your  slightest  gesture,  Mr.  Ed- 
ward, for  the  Indians  are  very  clever; 
the  man  you  have  to  deal  with  is 
cleverer  than  all  of  them,  as  he  com- 
bines with  redskin  craft  that  European 
intelligence  and  corruption  with  which 
his  teacher  has  inculcated  him.  Natah 
Otann  is  a man  with  an  incalculable 
depth  of  calculation  ; his  thoughts  are 
an  abyss.  Take  care  ! his  pressing  you 
to  promise  a visit  to  his  village,  his 
generosity  to  the  American  squatter, 
the  secret  protection  with  which  he  sur- 
rounds you,  while  being  the  first  to  take 
you  for  a superior  being — all  this  makes 
me  believe  that  he  wishes  to  lead  you 
unconsciously  into  some  dark  enter- 
prise, which  will  prove  your  destruc- 
tion. Believe  me,  Mr.  Edward,  beware 
of  this  man.” 

“ Thanks,  my  friend,  I will  watch,” 
the  Count  said,  pressing  the  Canadian’s 
honest  hand. 

“ You  will  watch,”  the  latter  said  ; 
“ but  do  you  know  the  way  to  do  it  T1 

“ I confess ” 

“ Listen  to  me,”  the  hunter  inter- 
rupted him  ; “ you  must  first ” 

“ Here  is  the  chief,”  the  young  man 
exclaimed. 

“ Confusion  !”  Brighteye  growled. 
“ Why  could  he  not  stop  a few  minutes 
longer  ? I am  sure  that  red  devil  has 
some  familiar  spirit  to  warn  him.  But 
no  matter,  I have  told  you  enough  to 
prevent  your  being  trapped  by  false 
friendliness  ; besides,  I shall  be  there  to 
support  you.” 

“ Thanks.  When  the  time  comes — ” 

“ I will  warn  you  ; but  it  is  urgent 
that  you  should  now  compose  your 
countenance,  and  pretend  to  know  no- 
thing.” 

“ Good  ; that’s  settled  ; here  is  our 
man.  Silence.” 

“On  the  contrary,  let  us  talk  ; silence 
is  ever  interpreted  either  well  or  ill, 
6 


92 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


but  generally  in  the  latter  sense.  Be 
careful  to  reply  in  the  sense  of  my 
questions.” 

“ i w ill  try.” 

“ Here  is  our  man.  Let  us  cheat  the 
cheater.” 

After  casting  a cunning  glance  at  the 
chief,  who  wras  onty  a few  paces  off  at 
the  moment,  he  continued  aloud,  and 
changing  his  tone  : 

“ What  you  ask,  Mr.  Edwrard,  is  most 
simple.  I am  certain  that  the  chief 
will  be  happy  to  procure  you  that  plea- 
sure.” 

“ Do  you  think  so  ?”  the  young  man 
asked,  not  knowing  what  the  hunter 
wras  alluding  to. 

Brighteye  turned  to  Natah  Otann, 
who  arrived  at  the  moment,  and  rode 
silently  by  their  side,  though  he  had 
heard  the  two  men’s  last  remarks. 

“ My  companion,”  he  said  to  the 
chief,  “ has  heard  a great  deal  of,  and 
longs  to  see,  a cariboo  hunt.  I have 
offered  him  in  your  name,  chief,  one  of 
those  magnificent  battues,  of  which  you 
redskins  have  reserved  the  scent.” 

“ Natah  Otann  will  be  happy  to 
satisfy  his  guest,”  the  sachem  replied, 
bow?ing  with  Indian  gravity. 

The  Count  thanked  him. 

“ We  are  approaching  the  village  of 
my  tribe,”  the  chief  continued  ; “ w^e 
shall  be  there  in  an  hour.  The  pale 
faces  will  see  how  I receive  my  friends.” 

The  Blackfeet,  who  had  hitherto  gal- 
loped without  order,  gradually  drew  to- 
gether, and  formed  a compact  squadron 
round  their  chief.  The  little  party  con- 
tinued to  advance,  approaching  more 
and  more  the  Missouri,  which  rolled  on 
majestically  between  two  high  banks, 
covered  with  osier  beds,  whence,  on  the 
approach  of  the  horsemen,  startled 
flocks  of  pink  flamingoes  rose  in  alarm. 
On  reaching  a spot  where  the  path 
formed  a bend,  the  Indians  stopped,  and 
prepared  their  weapons  as  if  for  a fight ; 
some  taking  their  guns  out  of  their 
leathern  cases,  and  loading  them,  others 
preparing  their  bows  and  javelins. 

“ Are  the  fellow's  afraid  of  an  attack  ?” 
the  Count  asked  Brighteye. 

“ Not  the  least  in  the  world,”  the 
latter  answ'ered  ; “ they  are  only  a few 
minutes’  ride  from  their  village,  into 


which  they  wish  to  enter  in  triumph,  m 
order  to  do  you  honor.” 

“ Come,  come  !”  the  young  man  said  ; 
“ all  this  is  charming.  I did  not  ex- 
pect, on  coming  to  the  prairies,  to  be 
present  at  such  singular  scenes.” 

“ You  have  seen  nothing  yet,”  the 
hunter  said,  ironically  ; “ wait,  w'e  are 
only  at  the  beginning.” 

“ All  the  better,”  the  Count  answered, 
joyfully. 

Natah  Otann  made  a sign,  and  the 
warriors  closed  up  again  at  the  same 
moment;  although  no  one  was  visible, 
a noise  of  conchs,  drums,  and  chicki- 
koues  was  heard  a short  distance  off. 

The  warriors  uttered  their  w'ar-yell, 
and  replied  by  raising  to  their  lips  their 
war-whistles.  Natah  Otann  then  placed 
himself  at  the  head  of  the  party,  having 
the  Count  on  his  right,  the  hunter  and 
Ivon  on  his  left ; and  turning  towards 
his  men,  he  brandished  his  weapon  sev- 
eral times  over  his  head,  uttering  two 
or  three  shrill  whistles.  At  this  signal 
the  whole  troop  rushed  forward,  and 
turned  the  corner  like  an  avalanche. 

The  Frenchman  then  witnessed  a 
strange  scene,  which  was  not  without  a 
certain  amount  of  savage  grandeur.  A 
troop  of  w'arriors  from  the  village  came 
up,  like  a tornado,  to  meet  the  new 
comers,  shouting,  howling,  brandishing 
their  arms,  and  firing  their  guns.  The 
tw?o  parties  charged  each  other  with  ex- 
traordinary fury  and  at  full  speed  ; but 
when  scarce  ten  yards  apart,  the  horses 
stopped,  as  if  of  their  own  impulse,  and 
began  dnncing,  curvetting  and  perform- 
ing all  the  most  difficult  tricks  of  the 
riding-school.  After  these  manoeuvres 
had  lasted  a few  moments,  the  two 
bands  then  formed  a semi-circle  opposite 
each  other,  leaving  a free  space  between 
them,  in  which  the  chiefs  collected.  The 
presentations  then  began.  Natah  Otann 
made  a long  harangue  to  the  chiefs,  in 
which  he  gave  them  an  account  of  his 
expedition,  and  the  result  he  had  ob- 
tained. The  sachems  listened  to  it  with 
thorough  Indian  decorum.  When  he 
spoke  to  them  of  his  meeting  wdth  the 
white  men,  and  what  had  occurred,  they 
bowed  silently,  without  replying  ; but 
one  chief,  of  venerable  aspect,  who 
seemed  older  than  the  rest,  and  appear- 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


93 


ed  to  be  treated  with  great  considera- 
tion by  his  companions,  turned  a pro- 
found and  inquiring  glance,  at  the 
Count,  when  Natah  Otann  spoke  of  him. 
The  young  man,  troubled,  in  spite  of 
himself,  by  the  fixed  glance,  stooped 
down  to  Brighteye’s  ear  and  asked  him 
in  a low  voice,  who  the  man  was. 

“ That  is  White  Buffalo,”  the  hunter 
answered,  “ the  European  I spoke  to  you 
about.” 

“ Ah,  ah  !”  the  Count  said,  regarding 
him  in  his  turn,  attentively  ; “ I do  not 
know  why,  but  I believe  I shall  have  a 
serious  row  with  that  gentleman  before 
I have  done.” 

The  White  Buffalo  then  took  the 
word. 

“ My  brothers  are  welcome,”  he  said; 
“ their  return  to  the  tribe  is  a festival ; 
they  are  intrepid  warriors  ; we  are  hap- 
py at  hearing  the  way  in  which  they 
have  performed  the  duties  entrusted  to 
them.”  Then  he  turned  to  the  white 
men,  and,  after  bowing  to  them  contin- 
ued : — The  Kenhas  are  poor,  but 
strangers  are  always  well  received  by 
them ; the  palefaces  are  our  guests,  all 
we  possess  belongs  to  them.” 

The  Count  and  his  companions  thank- 
ed the  chief,  who  so  gracefully  did  the 
honors  of  his  tribe  ; th4n  the  two  par- 
ties joined,  and  galloped  toward  the  vil- 
lage, which  was  built  some  five  hundred 
paces  from  the  spot  where  they  were, 
and  at  the  entrance  of  which  a multitude 
of  women  and  children  could  be  seen 
assembled. 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

THE  RECEPTION. 

Like  all  the  centres  of  Indian  popu- 
lation near  the  American  clearings,  the 
Kenha  village  was  more  like  a fort  than 
an  open  town.  As  we  said  before,  the 
Kenhas  had  only  a short  time  previous- 
ly established  themselves  there,  by  the 
advice  of  Natah  Otann. 

The  spot  was  magnificently  selected, 
and  owing  to  the  precaution  taken, 
the  hill  was  completely  protected  from 
a sudden  attack.  The  wigwams  were 


built  without  any  order,  on  both  sides 
a stream,  and  the  fortifications  consisted 
of  a sort  of  entrenchment  formed  of 
dead  trees.  These  fortifications  formed 
an  enclosure,  having  several  angles,  and 
the  gorge  or  open  part  rested  on  the 
spot  where  the  stream  fell  into  the  Mis- 
souri. A parapet  of  tree  stems  and 
piled  up  branches,  built  up  on  the  edge 
of  a deep  ditch,  completed  a very  re- 
spectable defensive  system,  which  few 
would  have  expected  to  find  in  the 
heart  of  the  prairies. 

In  the  centre  of  the  village,  a wide, 
vacant  spot  served  as  the  meeting 
place  for  the  chiefs.  In  the  centre 
there  was  a wigwam  of  wood,  in  the 
shape  of  a sugar  loaf.  On  either  side 
of  the  building,  maize,  wheat  and  other 
cereals  kept  for  winter  consumption 
were  drying.  A little  in  advance  of 
the  village  were  two  block  houses, 
formed  of  arrow-shaped  entrenchments, 
covered  with  wickerwork,  provided 
with  loopholes,  and  surrounded  by  an 
enclosure  of  palisades.  They  were  in- 
tended for  the  defence  of  the  village, 
with  which  they  communicated  by  a 
covered  way,  and  to  command  the 
river  and  the  plain.  To  leeward  of 
these  block  houses,  and  about  a mile  to 
the  east,  might  be  seen  a number  of 
Machotle , or  scaffoldings,  on  which  the 
Blood  Indians  lay  their  dead.  At  rearu- 
lar  distances  on  the  road  leading  to  the 
village,  long  poles  were  planted  in  the 
ground,  from  which  hung  skins,  scalps, 
and  other  objects  offered  by  the  Indians 
to  the  Master  of  Life  and  the  first  man. 

The  Indians  made  their  entrance  into 
the  village  amid  the  cheers  of  the 
women  and  children,  the  barking  of 
dogs,  and  the  deafening  clamor  of 
drums,  shells,  chichikoues,  and  war 
whistles.  On  reaching  the  square,  at  a 
signal  from  Natah  Otann,  the  band 
halted,  and  the  noise  ceased.  An  im- 
mense fire  had  been  prepared,  before 
which  stood  an  aged  chief,  still  robust 
and  upright.  A shade  of  melancholy 
was  spread  over  his  face.  He  was  in 
mourning,  as  was  easily  to  be  seen  by 
the  ragged  clothes  that  covered  him, 
and  his  hair  cut  short  and  mingled  with 
clay.  He  held  in  his  hand  a Dacotah 
pipe,  the  stem  of  which  was  long  and 


94 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


adorned  with  yellow  "listening  beads. 
This  man  was  Cloven  Foot,  the  first  and 
most  renowned  sachem  of  the  Kenhas. 
So  soon  as  the  band  had  halted,  he  ad- 
vanced two  paces,  and  with  a majestic 
gesture  invited  the  chiefs  to  demount. 

“My  sons  are  at  home/’  he  said, 
“ let  them  take  their  seats  on  the  buf- 
falo robes  around  the  council  fire.” 

Each  obeyed  silently,  and  sat  down, 
after  bowing  respectfully  to  the  sachem. 
Cloven  Foot  then  allowed  each  to  take 
a few  puffs  from  his  pipe,  still  holding 
it  in  his  hand.  When  it  was  returned 
to  him,  he  emptied  the  burning  ash  into 
the  fire,  and  turning  with  a kind  of 
smile  to  the  strangers,  said  : — 

“ The  palefaces  are  our  guests. 
There  are  fire  and  water  here.” 

After  these  words,  which  ended  the 
ceremony,  all  rose  and  retired  without 
uttering  a word,  according  to  the  Indian 
custom.  Natah  Otann  then  went  up  to 
the  Count, 

“ Let  my  brother  follow  me,”  he 
said. 

“ Where  to  ?”  the  young  man  asked. 
“ To  the  cabin  I have  had  prepared 
for  him.” 

“ And  my  companions  ?” 

“ Other  wdgwams  await  them.” 
Brighteye  made  a sign,  immediately 
checked  by  the  Count. 

“ Pardon,  chief,”  he  said,  “ but  with 
your  permission  my  comrades  will  live 
w'ith  me.” 

The  hunter  smiled,  as  a shade  of  dis- 
satisfaction crossed  the  Indian’s  face. 

“ The  young  pale  chief  will  be  un- 
comfortable, for  he  is  accustomed  to  the 
immense  huts  of  the  whites.” 

“ That  is  possible,  but  I shall  be 
more  uncomfortable  if  my  comrades  do 
not  remain  with  me,  in  order  to  keep 
me  company.” 

“ The  hospitality  of  the  Kenhas  is 
great.  They  are  rich,  and  could  give 
each  a private  cabin,  even  if  their  guests 
were  more  numerous.” 

“ l am  convinced  of  it,  and  thank 
them  for  their  attention,  by  which,  how- 
ever, I decline  to  profit.  Solitude 
frightens  me.  1 should  be  worried  to 
death,  had  I not  with  me  some  one  to 
talk  with.” 

“ Be  it  then  as  the  young  pale  chief 


desires.  Guests  have  a right  to  com- 
mand. Their  requests  are  orders.” 

“ I thank  you  for  your  condescension, 
and  am  ready  to  follow  you.” 

“ Come.” 

With  that  rapidity  of  resolution 
which  the  Indians  possess  in  so  eminent 
a degree,  Natah  Otann  shut  up  his  vex- 
ation in  his  heart,  and  not  a trace  of 
emotion  again  appeared  on  his  stoical 
countenance.  The  three  men  followed 
him,  after  exchan<nn"  a meaning  "lance. 
A handsome,  lofty  cabin  had  been  built 
in  the  square  itself,  near  the  hut  of  the 
first  man,  a species  of  cylinder  formed 
in  the  earth,  and  surrounded  with  creep- 
ing plants.  To  this  cabin  the  chief  now 
led  his  guests.  A woman  was  standing 
silently  in  the  doorway,  fixing  on  the 
new  comers  a glance  in  which  admira- 
tion and  astonishment  were  blended. 
But  was  it  a woman  1 this  angelic  crea- 
ture, with  her  vague  outline,  whose  de- 
licious face,  blushing  with  modesty  arid 
simple  curiosity,  turned  towards  the 
Count  with  anxious  timidity.  The 
young  man  asked  himself  this  very 
question  on  contemplating  this  charm- 
ing apparition,  which  resembled  one  of 
those  divine  virgins  in  the  mythology 
of  the  ancient  Sclavons.  On  seeing  her, 
Natah  Otann  paused. 

“ What  is  my  sister  doing  here  1”  he 
asked  her,  roughly. 

The  girl,  startled  from  her  silent  con- 
templation by  this  brusque  address, 
shuddered,  and  let  her  eyes  fall. 

“ Prairie  Flower  wishes  to  welcome 
her  adopted  father,”  she  replied  gently, 
in  a sweet,  melodious  voice. 

“ Prairie  Flower’s  place  is  not  here,  I 
will  speak  with  her  presently  : let  her 
go  and  rejoin  her  companions,  the  young 
maidens  of  the  tribe.” 

Prairie  Flower  blushed  still  deeper, 
her  rosy  lips  pouted,  and  after  shaking 
her  head  petulantly  twice,  she  flew  away 
like  a bird,  casting  at  the  Count,  as  she 
fled,  a parting  glance,  which  caused  him 
an  incomprehensible  emotion. 

The  young  man  laid  his  hand  on  his 
heart  to  suppress  its  beating,  and  fol- 
lowed the  girl  with  his  eyes,  till  she  dis- 
appeared behind  a cabin. 

“ Oh,”  the  chief  muttered  aside,  “can 
she  have  suddenly  recognized  a being 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


95 


of  that  accursed  race  to  which  she  be- 
longs ?” 

Then  turning  to  the  white  men,  whose 
eyes  he  felt  instinctively  were  fixed 
on  him  : 

“ Enter,”  he  said,  raising  the  buffalo 
skin,  which  served  as  a door  to  the 
cabin. 

They  went  in.  By  Natah  Otann’s 
care  the  cabin  had  been  cleaned,  and 
every  comfort  it  was  possible  to  find 
placed  in  it,  that  is  to  say — piles  of 
furs  to  serve  as  a bed,  a rickety  table, 
some  wooden  clumsy  benches,  and  a 
species  of  reed  easy-chair,  with  a large 
back. 

“ The  paleface  will  excuse  the  poor 
Indians  if  they  have  not  done  more  to 
welcome  him  as  he  deserves,”  the  chief 
said,  with  a mixture  of  irony  and  hu- 
mility. 

“ It  is  all  famous,”  the  young  man  an- 
swered, with  a smile  ; “ I certainly  did 
not  expect  so  much ; besides,  I have 
been  on  the  prairie  long  enough  to  sat- 
isfy myself  with  what  is  strictly  neces- 
sary.” 

“ Now  I ask  the  pale  chiefs  permis- 
sion to  retire.” 

“ Yes,  go,  my  worthy  host;  do  so  ; 
do  not  put  yourself  out  of  the  way.  At- 
tend to  your  business.  For  my  part  I 
intend  taking  that  rest  I need  so 
sadly.” 

Natah  Otann  bowed  in  reply,  and 
withdrew.  So  soon  as  he  was  gone, 
Brighteye  made  his  comrades  a sign  to 
remain  motionless,  and  began  inspect- 
ing the  place,  peering  into  every  corner. 
"When  he  had  ended  his  inspection, 
which  produced  no  further  result  than 
proving  to  him  they  were  really  alone, 
and  that  no  spy  was  on  the  watch,  he 
returned  to  the  centre  of  the  hut,  and 
calling  the  Count  and  Ivon  toward  him 
said,  in  a low  voice : 

“Listen;  we  are  now  in  the  wolfs 
throat  by  our  own  fault,  and  we  must 
be  prudent ; in  the  prairies  the  leaves 
have  eyes  and  the  trees  ears.  Natah 
Otann  is  a demon,  who  is  planning  some 
treachery,  of  which  he  intends  to  make 
us  the  victims.” 

“Bah!”  the  Count  said,  lightly. 
tc  How  do  you  know  it,  Brighteye?” 

“ I do  not  know  it,  yet  I feel  sure  of 


it ; my  instinct  never  deceives  me,  Mr. 
Edward.  I have  known  the  Kenhas  a 
long  time;  we  must  get  out  of  this  as 
adroitly  as  we  can.” 

“ Eh  ! what  use  are  such  suspicions, 
my  friend  ? The  poor  devils,  1 am  con- 
vinced, only  think  of  treating  us  pro- 
perly ; all  this  appears  to  me  admira- 
ble.” 

The  Canadian  shook  his  head. 

“I  should  like  to  know  the  cause  cf 
the  strange  respect  the  Indians  show 
you,  that  conceals  something,  I repeat.” 
“ Bah  ! they  are  afraid  of  me  ; that’s 
all.” 

“ Hum!  Natah  Otann  does  not  fear 
much  in  this  wond.” 

“ Why,  Brighteye,  I never  saw  you 
in  this  state  before.  Did  I not  know 
you  so  thoroughly,  1 should  say  you 
were  afraid.” 

“ Hang  me  ! if  I’ll  try  to  conceal  it,” 
the  hunter  replied,  quickly.  “ I am 
afraid,  and  terriblv  so.” 

“ You  ?” 

“ Yes  ; but  not  for  myself ; you  know 
that  during  the  time  I have  journeyed 
on  the  prairies,  if  the  redskins  could 
have  killed  me,  they  would  have  done 
so.  Hence,  I am  perfectly  calm  on  my 
own  account,  and  were  there  only  my- 
self—” 

“ Well  r 

“ 1 should  not  be  at  all  embarrassed.” 
" Whom  are  you  afraid  for,  then?” 

“ For  you.” 

“ Me !”  the  Count  exclaimed,  as  he 
reclined  carelessly  in  the  easy  chair. 
“ You  do  those  scamps  a deal  of  honor. 
With  my  whip  I would  put  all  these 
hideous  people  to  flight.” 

The  hunter  shook  his  head. 

“ You  will  not,  Mr.  Edward,  persuade 
yourself  thoroughly  of  one  thing.” 

“ What?” 

“ That  the  Indians  are  different  men 
from  the  Europeans  with  whom  you 
have  hitherto  had  dealings.” 

“ Nonsense,  were  a man  to  listen  to 
you  woodrangers,  he  would  be  at  every 
two  steps,  in  danger  of  death,  and  it 
would  be  impossible  to  move,  except 
by  crawling  on  all  fours,  like  the  wild 
beasts  ; that  is  all  trash,  my  good  fel- 
low. I fancy  1 have  already  twenty 
times  proved  to  you  that  such  precau- 


96 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


tions  are  useless,  and  that  a man  who 
boldly  meets  danger,-  will  always  get 
the  best  of  the  most  warlike  redskins.” 
“It  is  exactly  the  reason  that  makes 
them  act  toward  you  in  that  way,  I wish 
to  discover.” 

“ You  would  do  better  to  try  and 
discover  something  else.” 
j “What  is  it  ?” 

I “Who  that  charming  girl  is,  of  whom 
..  only  had  a glance,  and  whom  the  Chief 
sent  away  so  brutally.” 

“ Good  ! then  I suppose  you  have 
fallen  in  love  now ; that’s  the  last  thing 
wanting.” 

“ Why  not ! she  is  a charming  girl.” 
“ Yes;  she  is  charming,  sir;  but,  be- 
lieve me,  do  not  trouble  yourself  about 
her.” 

“ And  why  so,  if  you  please  ?” 

“ Because  she  is  not  what  she  seems 
to  be.” 

“ Why,  it’s  a perfect  romance  of  the 
Anne  Hadcliffe  school ; we  have  been 
advancing  from  mystery  to  mystery 
during  the  last  few  days.” 

“Yes,  and  the  further  we  go,  the 
more  gloomy  matters  will  become 
around  us.” 

“ Bah,  Bah  ! I do  not  believe  a word. 
Ivon,  take  off  my  boots.” 

The  man-servant  obeyed.  Since  his 
entry  into  the  village,  the  worthy  Bre- 
ton had  been  in  one  continued  trance, 
and  trembled  in  all  his  limbs.  All  he 
saw  seemed  to  him  so  extraordinary 
and  horrible,  that  he  expected  every 
moment  to  be  massacred. 

“ Well,”  the  Count  asked  him,  “ what 
do  you  think  of  it  all,  Ivon  ?” 

“ Your  Lordship  knows  that  I am  a 
great  coward,”  the  Breton  stammered. 

“ Yes,  yes,  that  is  agreed  ; go  on.” 

“ I am  terribly  afraid.” 

“ Naturally  ” 

“ And  if  your  lordship  will  allow  me, 

I will  carry  my  furs  over  there,  and 
sleep  across  the  doorway.” 

“ Why  so?” 

“ Because,  as  I am  very  frightened,  I 
shall  not  sleep  soundly  ; and  if  any  one 
comes  in  the  night,  with  ill  intentions, 
he  will  be  obliged  to  step  over  me;  1 
shall  hear  him,  and,  in  that  way,  be  able 
to  warn  you,  which  will  give  you  time  I 
to  defend  yourself.” 


The  young  man  threw  himself  back, 
and  burst  into  a Homeric  laugh,  in 
which  Brighteye  joined,  in  spite  of  his 
thoughtfullness. 

“ By  Jove  !”  the  Count  exclaimed, 
looking  at  his  servant,  who  was  in 
amazement  at  this  gaiety,  which  seemed 
to  him  unsuitable  at  so  grave  a moment. 
“I  must  confess,  Ivon,  that  you  are  the 
most  extraordinary  poltroon  I ever 
saw.” 

“ Ah,  Sir  !”  he  answered,  with  c >u- 
trition,  “ it  is  not  my  fault ; for  1 do 
all  I can  to  gain  courage,  but  it  is  im- 
possible.” 

’ “ Good,  good  !”  the  young  man  went 

on,  still  laughing.  “ I am  not  angrv 
with  you,  my  poor  fellow;  as  it  is 
stronger  than  yourself,  you  must  put 
up  with  it.” 

“ Alas  !”  the  Breton  said,  uttering  an 
enormous  sigh. 

“ Well,  you  can  sleep  how  and  where 
you  like,  Ivon  ; I leave  it  entirely  to 
you.” 

The  Breton,  without  further  reply, 
began  transferring  the  furs  to  the  place 
he  had  selected,  while  the  Count  went 
on  talking  with  the  hunter. 

“ As  for  you,  Brighteye,”  he  said,  “ I 
leave  you  at  liberty  to  watch  over  our 
safety  as  you  may  think  proper,  pro- 
mising not  to  disarrange  your  plans  in 
any  way,  and  even  to  promote  them,  if 
necessary  ; but  on  one  condition.” 

“ What?” 

“ That  you  will  arrange  so  that  I 
may  meet  again  that  charming  creature, 
of  whom  1 have  already  spokeu  to 
you.” 

“Take  care,  Mr.  Edward  !” 

“I  want  to  see  her  again,  I tell  you, 
even  if  I am  obliged  to  go  and  look  for 
her  myself.  ’ 

“You  will  not  do  so,  Mr.  Edward.” 

“ I will  do  so,  on  my  soul  ! and  at 
once,  if  you  continue  in  that  tone.” 

“ You  will  reflect.” 

“ I now  reflect,  and  find  it  the  best 
plan.” 

“ But  do  you  know  who  that  girl 
is  ?” 

“By  Jove!  you  have  just  said  it; 
she  is  a girl,  and  a charming  one  in  the 
bargain.” 


THE  FLOWER  OF  TIIE  PRAIRIE. 


97 


“ Granted  ; but  I repeat,  she  is  loved 
by  Natah  Otann.” 

“ What  do  I care  Vf 
“ Take  care  !” 

“ I .will  not : I must  see  her  again.” 
“ At  anv  risk?” 

“ At  alf.” 

“ Well  listen  to  me  then.” 

“ I will,  but  be  brief.” 

“I  will  tell  you  this  girl’s  history.” 
“You  knov;  her  then?” 

“ 1 do.” 

“ Go  on  ; I am  all  attention.” 
Brighteye  drew  up  a bench,  sat  down 
with  an  air  of  dissatisfaction,  and,  after 
a moment’s  reflection,  began  : — 

“Just  fifteen  years  ago,  Natah  Otann, 
who  was  hardly  twenty  years  of  age, 
but  already  a renowned  warrior,  left  his 
tribe,  at  the  head  of  some  fifty  picked 
warriors,  to  attempt  a coup  de  main  on 
the  whites.  At  that  period,  the  Kenhas 
did  not  live  where  they  now  are;  the 
Fur  Company  had  not  advanced  so  far 
on  the  Missouri,  and  Fort  Mackenzie 
did  not  exist.  The  Blood  Indians 
hunted  freely  on  the  vast  territories 
from  which  the  Americans  have  since 
expelled  them.  Up  to  that  moment, 
Natah  Otann  had  never  been  the  com- 
mander-in-chief of  an  expedition;  like 
all  young  men  of  his  age  and  circum- 
stances, his  brow  shone  with  pride  ; he 
burned  to  distinguish  himself,  and 
prove  to  the  sachems  of  his  nation  that 
he  was  worthy  to  command  brave  war- 
riors. So  soon  as  he  entered  on  the 
war  trail, he  scattered  his  spies  in  every 
direction,  and  even  forbade  his  men 
smoking,  for  fear  lest  the  light  of  their 
pipes  might  betray  his  presence.  In 
short,  he  took,  with  ex'reme  wisdom, 
all  the  precautions  employed  in  similar 
cases. 

“ His  expedition  was  brilliant ; he 
surprised  several  caravans,  and  plun- 
dered and  burned  the  clearings ; his 
men  returned  laden  with  booty,  and  the 
bits  of  their  horses  garnished  with 
scalps.  Natah  Otann  only  brought 
back,  as  his  share,  a weak  creature  of 
two  or  three  years  at  the  most,  whom 
he  bore  tenderly  in  his  arms,  or  laid  on 
the  front  of  his  saddle.  That  child  was 
the  tall  and  lovely  girl  you  saw  to-day.” 


“ Ah  ! Is  she  white  or  red,  American 
or  Spanish  ?” 

“No  one  knows;  no  one  will  ever 
know.  You  are  aware  that  many  In- 
dians are  born  white ; thus  color  is  of 
no  avail  in  finding  her  relations  again. 
In  short,  the  chief  adopted  her;  but, 
strange  to  say,  as  she  grew  up,  she 
gained  such  an  ascendency  over  Natali 
Otann’s  mind,  that  the  chief  of  the  tribe 
grew  alarmed  ; besides,  the  life  led  by 

Prairie  Flower — that  is  her  name ” 

“ I knew  it,”  the  Count  interrupted 
him. 

“ Good,”  the  hunter  continued.  “ I 
say,  then,  that  this  girl’s  life  is  extraor- 
dinary ; instead  of  being  sportive  and 
laughing,  like  girls  of  her  age,  she  is 
gloomy,  dreamy,  and  wild,  wandering 
ever  alone  on  the  prairie,  flying  over 
the  dew-laden  grass  like  a gazelle,  or 
else,  at  night,  dreaming  in  the  moon- 
light, and  muttering  words  no  one  hears. 
At  times,  from  a distance  (for  no  one 
ven  ures  to  approach  her),  another  sha- 
dow may  be  traced  by  the  side  of  hers, 
and  moving  for  hours  at  her  side.  Then 
she  returns  alone  to  the  village  : if  ques- 
tioned, only  shakes  her  head  or  begins 
crying.” 

“ That  is  really  strange.” 

“ Is  it  not  ? So  much  so,  that  the 
chiefs  assembled  in  council,  and  agreed 
that  Prairie  Flower  had  cast  a charm 
over  her  adopted  father.” 

“The  asses  !”  the  Count  muttered. 

“ Perhaps  so,”  the  hunter  went  on, 
turning  his  head ; “ at  any  rate,  they 
agreed  that  she  should  be  left  alone  to 
perish  in  the  desert.” 

“Poor  child!  Well,  what  happened 
then  ?” 

“ Natah  Otann  and  White  Buffalo, 
who  were  not  summoned  to  the  council, 
went  there  on  learning  this  decision,  and 
succeeded  by  their  deceitful  words  in  so 
thoroughly  altering  the  chiefs’  senti- 
ments, that  they  not  only  gave  up  all 
idea  of  deserting  her,  but  she  has  sinfce 
been  regarded  as  the  tutelary  genius  of 
the  tribe.” 

“ And  Natah  Otann  ?” 

“ His  condition  is  still  the  same.” 

“Is  that  all ?” 

“ It  is.” 


98 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


**  Well,  then,  Brighteye,  within  two 
days  I shall  know  whether  that  girl  is 
the  enchantress  you  fancy  her,  and  what 
1 am  to  think  on  the  subject.” 

The  hunter  only  answered  by  an  un- 
intelligible grunt,  and  saying  no  more, 
lay  down  on  his  furs. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

WHITE  BUFFALO. 

So  soon  as  Natah  Otann  emerged 
from  the  cabin  into  which  he  had  con- 
ducted the  Count,  he  proceeded  towards 
the  hut  inhabited  by  White  Buffalo. 
The  night  was  beginning  to  fall:  the 
Kenhas,  collected  round  fires  kindled  at 
the  door  of  each  wigwam,  were  con- 
versing gaily  while  smoking  their  long 
calumets.  The  chief  replied  by  a nod 
of  the  head,  as  a friendly  sign  to  the 
affectionate  salutations  the  warriors 
made  him  whom  he  met,  but  he  did  not 
stop  to  talk  with  any  one,  and  con- 
tinued his  walk  with  greater  rapidity  as 
the  darkness  grew  denser.  He  at 
length  reached  a cabin  situated  at  the 
extremity  of  the  village,  on  the  banks 
of  the  Missouri.  The  chief,  after  tak- 
ing a scrutinizing  glance  around,  stop- 
ped before  this  hut,  and  prepared  to 
enter.  Still  in  the  act  of  raising  the 
buffalo  curtain  that  served  as  a door- 
way, he  hesitated  for  a few  seconds,  and 
appeared  to  be  collecting  his  courage. 

This  dwelling,  externally,  had  nothing 
to  distinguish  it  from  the  others  form- 
ing the  village  ; it  was  round,  with  a 
roof  shaped  like  a beehive,  made  of  in- 
tertwined branches,  with  clay  stuffed 
between  them,  and  covered  with  mat 
ting.  Still,  after  a moment’s  reflection, 
Natah  Otann  raised  the  curtain,  walked 
in,  and  stopped  at  the  threshold,  saying 
in  French  : — 

“ Good  evening,  my  father.” 

“ Good  evening,  child ; I was  await- 
ing you  impatiently  : come,  sit  down 
by  my  side,  we  have  to  talk.” 

These  words  were  uttered  in  the 
same  language,  and  in  a gentle  voice. 

Natah  Otann  took  a few  steps  for- 


ward, and  let  the  curtain  fall  behind 
him.  If,  externally,  the  hut  the  chief 
had  just  entered  was  not  distinguished 
from  the  others,  that  was  not  the  case 
with  the  interior.  All  that  human  in- 
dustry can  imagine,  when  reduced  to 
its  simplest  expressions,  that  is  to  say, 
when  deprived  of  tools  and  matters 
of  primary  necessity  to  express  its 
thoughts,  had  been  as  it  were  invented 
by  the  master  of  this  house.  Hence  the 
interior  of  this  hut  was  a sort  of 
strange  pandemonium,  in  which  were 
collected  the  most  discordant  articles, 
apparently  least  fitted  to  be  side  by 
side.  Differing  from  the  other  wig- 
wams, this  cabin  had  two  windows,  in 
which  oiled  paper  was  substituted  for 
glass  ; in  one  corner  was  a bed,  in  the 
centre  a table,  a few  scattered  chairs,  an 
arm  chair  by  the  table,  but  all  these 
articles  carved  with  an  axe  and  clumsily. 
Such  was  the  furniture  of  this  singular 
room. 

On  shelves,  some  forty  volumes,  for 
the  most  part  out  of  their  binding ; 
stuffed  animals  hanging  by  cords,  in- 
sects, etc.  ; in  a word,  an  infinite 
number  of  things  without  name,  but 
classified,  arranged,  and  labelled,  com- 
pleted this  singular  abode,  which  more 
resembled  the  cell  of  an  anchorite,  or 
the  secret  den  of  a mediaeval  alchymist, 
than  the  abode  of  an  Indian  chief ; and 
yet  this  hut  belonged  to  White  Buffalo, 
one  of  the  first  Kenha  chiefs.  But,  as 
we  have  said,  this  chief  was  an  Europe- 
an, and  had  doubtlessly  kept  up  some 
reminiscences  of  his  past  life,  the  last 
rays  of  a lost  existence. 

At  the  moment  when  Natah  Otann 
entered  the  hut,  White  Buffalo,  seated 
in  the  easy  chair  at  the  table,  with  his 
head  resting  on  his  hands,  was  reading 
by  the  light  of  a lamp,  whose  smoky 
wick  only  spread  a flickering  and  un- 
certain light  around,  from  a large  folio, 
with  yellow  and  worn  leaves.  He 
raised  his  head,  took  off  his  spectacles, 
which  he  placed  in  the  book,  and  turn- 
ing the  chair  half  round,  the  old  man 
smiled,  and  pointing  to  a chair,  in  a 
kindly  way,  said  : 

“ Come,  my  child,  sit  down  there.” 

The  chief  took  a chair,  drew  it  to  the 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


99 


table,  and  sat  down,  without  any  reply. 
The  old  man  looked  at  him  attentively 
for  a few  moments,  and  then  said  : 

“ Hem  ! you  appear  to  me  very 
thought  ul  for  a man  who,  as  I suppose, 
has  just  obtained  a grand  result  so  long 
expected.  What  can  render  you  so 
gloomy'?  Would  you  hesitate,  now 
you  are  on  the  point  of  success  ? or  are 
you  beginning  to  understand  that  the 
work  which,  in  spite  of  me,  you  wished 
to  undertake,  is  beyond  the  strength  of 
a man  left  to  himself,  and  who  has  only 
an  old  man  to  support  him  ?” 

“ Perhaps  so,”  the  chief  answered,  in 
a hollow  voice.  “ Oh,  why,  my  father, 
did  you  let  me  taste  the  bitter  fruit  of 
that  accursed  civilization,  which  was 
not  made  for  me?  Why  have  your 
lessons  made  of  me  a man  differing  from 
those  who  surround  me,  and  with  whom 
I am  compelled  to  live  and  die  V* 

“ Blind  man  ! when  I showed  you  the 
sun,  you  allowed  yourself  to  be  dazzled 
by  the  beams  ; your  weak  eyes  could 
not  endure  the  light.  In  the  place  of 
that  ignorance  and  brutalization  in  which 
you  would  have  vegetated  all  the  days 
of  your  life,  I developed  in  you  the  only 
feeling  which  elevates  man  above  the 
brute.  I taught  you  to  think,  to  judge, 
and  this  is  the  way  in  which  you  recom- 
pense me.  This  is  the  reward  you  give 
me  for  the  pains  I have  taken,  and  the 
cares  I have  never  ceased  to  bestow  on 
you.” 

“ My  father  !” 

“ Do  not  attempt  to  exculpate  your- 
self, child,”  the  old  man  said,  with  a 
shade  of  bitterness.  “ I should  have 
expected  what  now  happens,  ingratitude 
and  egotism  are  deposited  in  man’s 
heart  by  Providence,  as  his  safeguard. 
Without  these  two  supreme  virtues  of 
humanity,  no  society  would  be  possible. 

I am  not  angry  with  you ; I have  no 
right  to  be  so ; and,  as  the  sage  says, 
you  are  a man,  and  no  human  feeling 
must  be  alien  to  you.” 

“ I make  neither  plaint  nor  recrimina- 
tion, my  father ; I know  that  you  have  j 
acted  towards  me  with  good  intentions,” 
the  chief'  replied,  “ but,  unfortunately, 
your  lessons  have  produced  a very  dif- 
ferent result  from  what  you  awaited. 
In  developing  my  ideas,  you  have,  with- 


out your  knowledge  or  mine,  increased 
my  wants  : the  life  I lead  preys  upon 
me : the  men  who  surround  me  are  a 
burden  to  me,  because  they  cannot  un- 
derstand me,  and  1 can  no  longer  under- 
stand them.  As  respects  myself,  my 
mind  rush es  towards  an  unknown  hori- 
zon. I dream  wide  awake  of  strange 
and  impossible  things.  I suffer  from 
an  incurable  malady,  and  cannot  define 
it.  I hopelessly  love  a woman,  of  whom 
I am  jealous,  and  who  can  never  be 
mine,  save  by  a crime.  Oh,  my  father, 
I am  very  wretched  !” 

“Child!”  the  old  man  exclaimed, 
shrugging  his  shoulders  in  pity.  “ What, 
you  are  unhappy  ! Your  grief  inclines 
me  to  laughter.  Man  has  in  himself 
the  germ  of  good  and  evil ; if  you 
suffer,  you  have  only  yourself  to  blame. 
You  are  young,  intelligent,  powerful, 
the  first  of  your  nation : what  do  you 
want  for  happiness  ? Nothing.  If  you 
wish  to  be  so  permanently,  stifle  in 
your  heart  that  insensate  passion  which 
devours  it,  and  follow,  without  looking 
to  the  right  or  left,  the  glorious  mission 
you  have  traced  for  yourself.  What 
can  be  more  noble  or  grander  than  the 
deliverance  and  regeneration  of  a peo- 
ple ?” 

“ Alas  ! can  I do  it  ?” 

“What!  you  doubt?”  the  old  man 
shouted,  striking  the  table  with  his  fist, 
and  looking  him  in  the  face.  “ Then 
you  are  lost:  renounce  your  plans,  you 
will  not  succeed  on  a road  like  that  you 
follow’,  hesitation  or  stoppage  is  ruin.” 

“ Father  !” 

“ Silence  !”  he  said,  with  redoubled 
energy,  “ and  listen  to  me  : When  you 
first  revealed  your  plans  to  me,  1 tried 
by  all  arguments  possible  to  make  you 
abandon  them.  I proved  to  you  that 
your  resolves  were  premature — that  the 
Indians,  brutalized  by  a lengihened 
slavery,  w’ere  only  the  shadow  of  their 
former  selves,  and  that  to  attempt  to 
arouse  in  them  any  noble  or  generous 
feeling  was  like  galvanizing  a corpse. 

| You  resisted  ; you  wmuld  hear  nothing; 
you  went  headlong  into  intrigues  and 
plots  of  every  description — is  it  not 
so  ?” 

“ It  is  true.” 

“ W ell ! now  it  is  too  late  to  return ; 


100 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


you  must  go  on  at  all  risks.  You  may 
fall,  but  you  will  do  so  with  honor ; and 
your  name,  cherished  by  all,  will  swell 
the  martyrology  of  the  chosen  men  who 
have  devoted  themselves  to  their  coun- 
try.” 

“ Things  are  not  yet  sufficiently  ad- 
vanced, 1 think,  for  me ” 

“ Not  to  be  able  to  withdraw — you 
mean  ?”  he  interrupted  him. 

“ Yes.” 

“ You  are  mistaken.  While  you  were 
engaged  in  collecting  your  partisans, 
and  preparing  to  take  up  arms,  do  you 
fancy  I remained  inactive  V ’ 

“ What  do  you  mean  ?” 

“1  mean  that  your  enemies  suspect 
your  plans — are  watching  you  ; and  if 
you  do  not  prevent  them,  will  lay  a 
trap,  into  which  you  will  fall.” 

“ I ?”  the  chief  said,  violently.  “We 
shall  see.” 

“ Then  redouble  your  activity ; do 
not  let  yourself  be  taken  unawares  ; and, 
above  all,  be  prudent,  for  you  are 
closely  watched,  I repeat.” 

“ Flow  do  you  know  it?” 

“ That  I know  it  is  sufficient,  I ima- 
gine; trust  to  my  prudence.  I am  on 
the  watch.  Let  the  spies  and  traitors 
fall  asleep  in  a doubtful  security  ; were 
we  to  unmask  them,  others  would  take 
their  place,  and  we  are  better  off  with 
those  we  know.  In  that  way,  none  of 
their  movements  escape  us,  we  know 
what  they  are  doing  and  what  they 
want,  and  while  they  flatter  themselves 
with  the  idea  of  knowing  our  plans,  and 
divulging  them  to  their  paymasters,  we 
are  their  masters,  and  amuse  them  with 
false  information,  which  conceals  our 
real  plans.  Believe  me,  their  confi- 
dence produces  our  security.” 

“You  are  always  right,  my  father. 
I trust  entirely  to  you.  But  may  I not 
be  permitted  to  know  the  names  of  the 
traitors  ?” 

“ For  what  end,  since  I know  them  ? 
When  the  time  arrives,  I will  tell  you 
all.” 

“ Be  it  so.” 

There  was  a lengthened  silence.  The 
two  men,  absorbed  in  thought,  did  not 
notice  a grinning  head  over  the  curtain 
in  the  doorway,  and  which  had  for  a 


long  time  been  listening  to  their  con- 
versation. 

But  the  man,  whoever  he  might  be, 
who  indulged  in  this  espial,  every  now 
and  then  gave  signs  of  ill-temper  and 
disappointment.  In  fact,  while  listen- 
ing to  the  two  chiefs,  he  had  forgotten 
one  thing,  that  he  could  not  understand 
a word  of  what  they  said,  for  they 
spoke  in  French,  and  that  was  a sad 
disappointment  to  the  spy.  Still  he 
did  not  despair,  but  continued  to  listen, 
in  the  hope  that  they  might  at  any  mo- 
ment revert  to  his  idiom. 

“ And  now,”  the  old  man  continued, 
“ give  me  an  account  of  your  trip. 
When  you  went  away,  you  were  happy, 
and  hoped,  as  you  told  me,  to  bring 
back  with  you  the  man  you  wanted  to 
play  the  principal  part  in  your  conspi- 
racy.” 

“ Well,  you  saw  him  here  to-day,  my 
father.  He  is  here.  This  evening  he 
entered  the  village  by  my  side.” 

“ Oh  ! oh  ! explain  that  to  me,  my 
child,”  the  old  man  said,  with  a gentle 
smile,  and  settling  himself  in  the  easy 
chair  to  listen  at  his  ease.  By  an  im- 
perceptible movement,  and  while  seem- 
ing to  listen  with  the  greatest  attention, 
he  drew  towards  him  the  heavy  pistol 
that  lay  before  him. 

“ Go  on,”  he  said  ; “ I am  listening.” 
“ About  six  months  ago,  I do  not 
know  if  I told  you  of  it  then,  I succeed- 
ed in  capturing  a Canadian  hunter,  to 
whom  I owe  an  old  grudge.” 

“ Wait  a minute.  I fancy  I have  a 
confused  remembrance  of  it.  A certain 
Brighteye,  1 think,  eh  ?” 

“The  very  man.  Well!  I was  furi- 
ous with  him,  because  he  had  mocked 
us  so  long,  and  killed  my  warriors  with 
extraordinary  skill.  So  soon  as  he  was 
in  my  power  I resolved  he  should  die  by 
violence.” 

“ Although,  as  you  know,  I do  not 
approve  of  that  barbarous  custom,  you 
were  in  the  right,  and  I cannot  offer  any 
opposition  to  it.” 

He,  too,  made  no  objection ; on 
the  contrary,  he  derided  us;  in  a word, 
he  rendered  us  so  mad  with  him,  that  I 
gave  the  order  for  the  punishment.  At 
the  moment  that  he  was  about  to  die, 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRxYIRTE. 


101 


a man,  or  rather  a demon,  appeared  all 
at  once,  rushed  among  us,  and  careless 
as  it  seemed  of  the  risk  he  ran,  unfas- 
tened the  prisoner.” 

“ Hum  ! he  was  a brave  man,  do  you 
know  ?” 

“Yes,  but  his  daring  action  would 
have  cost  him  dear;  when  suddenly,  at 
a signal  from  myself  all  my  warriors 
fell  at  his  feet,  with  marks  of  the  most 
profound  respect.” 

“ Oh  ! what  are  you  telling  me  now?” 
“ The  strictest  truth  ; on  looking  this 
man  in  the  face,  I perceived  on  his  face 
two  extraordinary  signs.” 

“What?” 

“ A scar  over  the  right  eyebrow,  and 
a black  mark  under  the  eye,  on  the 
same  side  of  the  face.” 

“ T.iat  is  strange,”  the  old  man  mut- 
tered, pensively. 

“ But  what  is  still  more  so,  this  man 
exactly  resembles  the  portrait  which 
you  drew,  and  which  is  in  that  book.” 

“ What  did  you  do  then  ?” 

“ You  know  my  coolness  and  rapidity 
of  resolution.  1 let  the  man  depart 
with  the  prisoner.” 

“ Well!  and.  afterwards  ?” 

“ I pretended  as  if  I did  not  wish  to 
meet  him.” 

“ Better  and  better  still,”  the  old 
man  said,  with  a nod  of  his  head,  and 
with  a movement  swift  as  thought,  he 
cocked  the  pistol  he  held  in  his  hand, 
and  fired.  A cry  of  pain  was  heard 
from  the  door,  and  the  head  thereupon 
suddenly  disappeared  under  the  curtain. 
The  two  men  jumped  up,  and  rushed 
out,  but  saw  nothing,  except  that  a ra- 
ther large  pool  of  blood  clearly  indica- 
ted that  the  shot  had  told. 

“ What  have  you  done,  my  father  ?” 
Natah  Otann  exclaimed  in  astonish- 
ment. 

“ Nothing.  I have  merely  given  a 
lesson,  rather  a rough  one,  to  one  of 
those  spies  I mentioned  to  you  just 
now.” 

And  he  went  back  coolly,  and  sat 
down  again.  Natah  Otann  wished  to 
follow  the  bloody  trail  left  by  the  fugi- 
tive, but  the  old  man  checked  him. 

“ Stay  ! what  l have  done  is  suffi- 
cient ; continue  your  story,  which  is 
deeply  interesting.  Still  you  can  see 


that  you  have  no  time  to  lose,  if  you 
wish  to  succeed.” 

“ 1 will  lose  none,  father,  you  may  be 
assured,”  the  chief  exclaimed  wrath  ful- 
ly, “but  I swear  that  I will  know  that 
scoundrel.” 

“ You  would  do  wrong  to  seek  him. 
Come,  proceed  with  your  narrative.” 

Natah  Otann  then  described  in  full 
detail  his  meeting  with  the  Count,  and 
in  what  way  he  had  made  him  consent 
to  follow  him  to  his  village.  This  time 
no  incident  interrupted  his  story,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  the  lesson  read  by  White 
Buffalo  to  the  listener  was  sufficient  for 
the  present.  The  old  man  laughed 
heartily  at  the  experiment  with  the 
mate  es,  and  the  Count’s  surprise  when 
he  perceived  that  the  man  he  had  hith- 
erto taken  for  a coarse  and  half-idiot 
savage  was,  on  the  contrary,  a man  en- 
dowed with  an  intellect  and  education 
at  least  equal  to  his  own. 

“ And  what  shall  I do  now?”  Natah 
Otann  added,  in  conclusion.  “ He  is 
here ; but  with  him  is  Brighteye,  in 
whom  he  places  the  greatest  confi- 
dence.” 

“ Hum  ?”  the  old  man  answered,  “ all 
this  is  very  serious.  In  the  first  place, 
my  son,  you  did  wrong  to  let  him  know 
you  as  you  really  are  : you  were  much 
stronger  than  he,  so  long  as  he  merely 
fancied  you  a scupid  savage  ; you  al- 
lowed your  pride  to  carry  you  away 
through  the  desire  to  shine  in  the  eyes 
of  an  European.  It  is  a great  fault,  for 
now  he  doubts  you,  and  keeps  on  his 
guard.” 

The  young  man  looked  down,  and 
made  no  reply. 

“ However,”  the  old  man  went  on, 
“I  will  try  to  arrange  matters;  but  I 
must  first  see  this  Brighteye,  and  have 
a talk  with  him.” 

“ You  will  obtain  nothing,  my  father, 
he  is  devoted  (o  the  Count.” 

“ The  greater  reason,  child.  In  which 
hut  have  you  lodged  them  ?” 

“ In  the  old  council  lodge.” 

“ Good  ! they  will  be  convenient 
there  ; and  it  will  be  easy  to  hear  all 
they  say.” 

“ That  is  what  I thought.” 

“ Now,  one  last  remark.” 

“ What  is  it  ?” 


102 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


“ Why  did  you  not  kill  the  She-wolf 
of  the  Prairies  V’ 

“ I did  not  see  her.  I was  not  in  the 
camp;  but  I would  not  have  done  so.” 

The  old  man  laid  his  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

“ Natah  Otann,  my  son,”  he  said  to 
him,  in  a stern  voice,  “ when  a man  like 
yourself  is  intrusted  with  the  fortunes 
of  a people,  he  must  recoil  before  noth- 
ing. A dead  enemy  makes  the  living 
sleep  quietly.  The  She-wolf  of  the 
Prairies  is  your  enemy.  You  know  it  ; 
and  her  influence  is  immense  over  the 
superstitious  minds  of  the  redskins.  Re- 
member these  words,  uttered  by  an  old 
experienced  man  : — As  you  would  not 
kill  her,  she  will  kill  you.” 

Natah  Otann  smiled  contemptuously. 

“ Oh  !”  he  said,  “ a wretched,  half-mad 
woman.” 

“ Ah  !”  White  Buffalo  replied,  with  a 
shrug  of  the  shoulders,  “ are  you  igno- 
rant that  a woman  lurks  behind  every 
great  event?  *They  kill  men  of  genius 
tor  futile  interests,  and  paltry  passions 
cause  the  finest  and  boldest  prospects  to 
fail.” 

“Yes;  you  are,  perhaps  right,”  Na- 
tah Otann  said  ; “but  I feel  l cannot  stain 
my  hands  with  that  woman’s  blood.” 

“Scruples,  poor  child,”  White  Buffa- 
lo said,  with  disdain  ; “ well,  I do  not 
insist ; but  be  assured  that  scruples 
will  ruin  you.  The  man  who  wishes  to 
govern  others  must  be  made  of  marble, 
and  have  no  feelings  of  humanity,  else 
his  prospects  will  be  nipped  in  the  bud, 
and  his  foes  will  ridicule  him.  That 
which  has  ever  ruined  the  greatest  ge- 
niuses is,  that  they  would  not  compre- 
hend this  fact ; but  worked  for  their 
successors  and  not  for  themselves.” 

In  speaking  thus,  the  old  man  had  in- 
voluntarily let  himself  be  carried  away 
by  the  tumultuous  feelings  that  still 
agitated  his  mind.  His  eye  sparkled  ; 
his  brow  was  unwrinkled  ; his  glance 
had  an  irresistable  majesty;  he  had  re- 
turned in  thought,  to  his  old  days  of 
struggle  and  triumph.  Natah  Otann 
listened  to  him,  yielding  to  the  domin- 
ating ascendency  of  this  prostrated 
giant,  who  was  so  great  even  after  his 
fall. 

“What  am  I saying!  I am  mad! 


pardon  me,  child,”  the  old  man  contin- 
ued, sinking  in  his  chair,  despondingly. 
“Go,  leave  me;  to-morrow,  at  sunrise, 
I may,  perhaps,  have  some  news  for 
you.” 

And  he  dismissed  the  chief  with  a 
sign.  The  latter,  accustomed  to  these 
outbursts,  bowed,  and  departed. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  SPY. 

The  pistol-shot  fired  by  the  White 
Buffalo  had  not  quite  produced  the  re- 
sult the  latter  expected  from  it.  The 
man  was  wounded;  but  the  haste,  with 
which  the  chief  had  been  obliged  to 
fire,  injured  the  precision  of  his  aim, 
and  the  listener  escaped  with  a slight 
wound  ; the  bullet  grazed  his  skull,  and 
only  produced  a copious  hemorrhage. 
Still  this  hurt  had  been  enough  for  the 
spy,  who  saw  that  he  was  unmasked, 
and  that  a longer  stay  at  the  spot  would 
inevitably  produce  a catastrophe  ; hence 
he  ran  off  at  full  speed.  After  running 
for  several  minutes,  feeling  certain  that 
he  had  thrown  off  any  persons  inclined 
to  follow  him,  he  stopped  to  draw 
breath,  and  attend  to  his  wound,  which 
still  bled  profusely.  In  consequence, 
he  looked  anxiously  around  him ; but 
all  was  silent  and  solitary. 

A dense  snow-storm,  which  had  been 
falling  for  many  an  hour,  had  compelled 
the  Indians  to  seek  shelter  in  their 
lodges.  The  firing  of  the  pistol  had 
caused  no  panic,  for  the  redskins,  ac- 
customed to  nocturnal  disputes  in  their 
villages,  had  not  stirred. 

No  other  noise  could  be  heard  but 
the  barking  of  a few  stray  dogs,  and  the 
hoarse  cries  of  the  wild  beasts  that 
wandered  over  the  prairie  in  search  of 
prey.  The  spy,  reassured  by  the  calm 
prevailing  in  the  village,  set  about  ban- 
daging the  wound,  in  his  heart  thanking 
the  snow  for  falling,  as  it  effaced  the 
traces  of  blood  left  in  his  flight. 

“ Come,”  he  muttered,  in  a low  voice, 
“ I shall  know  nothing  this  night , the 
genius  of  evil  protects  these  men.  I 
will  go  into  the  cabin.” 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE, 


103 


He  turned  a parting  glance  around, 
and  prepared  to  start;  but,  at  the  same 
moment,  a white  shadow,  gliding  over 
the  snow  like  a phantom,  passed  a short 
distance  from  him. 

“What  is  that?”  the  Indian  mutter- 
ed, suddenly  assailed  by  a superstitious 
terror.  “Is  the  ‘Virgin  of  the  dark 
hours’  wandering  about  the  village? 
What  terrible  misfortune  is  menacing 
us  then  ?” 

The  Indian  bent  forward,  and,  as  if 
attracted  by  a superior  power,  followed 
with  his  eyes  the  strange  apparition, 
whose  white  outline  was  already  blend- 
ing with  the  distant  gloom. 

“ That  creature  is  not  walking,”  he 
said  to  himself,  with  terror ; “ she  leaves 
no  footfall  on  the  snow.  Is  she  a 
Genius  hostile  to  the  Blackfeet  ? There 
is  a mystery  about  this  which  I must 
fathom.” 

The  instinct  of  the  spy  heightening 
the  curiosity  of  the  Indian,  the  latter 
soon  forgot  his  terror  for  a moment,  and 
rushed  boldly  in  pursuit  of  the  phantom. 
After  an  interval  of  a few  minuted,  the 
shadow  or  spectre  stopped,  and  looked 
around  with  evident  indecision.  The 
Indian,  lest  he  might  be  discovered,  had 
just  time  to  hide  himself  behind  the 
wall  of  a cabin ; but  a pale  gleam  of 
moonlight,  emerging  between  two 

©7  © © 

clouds,  had,  for  a second,  lighted  up  the 
face  of  the  person  he  was  pursuing. 

“Prairie  Flower!”  he  muttered, 
suppressing  with  difficulty  a cry  of  sur- 
prise. 

In  fact,  that  was  the  person  thus  wan- 
dering about  in  the  darkness.  After 
some  hesitation,  the  maiden  raised  her 
head,  and  walked  resolutely  toward  a 
cabin,  the  buffitlo  skin  of  which  she  lift- 
ed with  a him  hand.  She  entered,  and 
let  the  curtain  fall  behind  her.  The  In- 
dian bounded  up  to  the  cabin,  walked 
round  it,  thrust  his  knife  up  to  the  hilt 
in  the  wall,  turned  it  round  twice  or 
thrice,  to  enlarge  the  hole,  and,  placing 
his  ear  to  it  listened.  The  most  com- 
plete quiet  continued  to  prevail  in  the 
village. 

At  the  first  step  the  girl  took  in  the 
lodge,  a shadow  suddenly  rose  before 
her,  and  a hand  fell  upon  her  shoulder  ; 
instinctively  she  recoiled. 


“ What  do  you  want  ?”  a menacing 
voice  asked.  This  question  was'  asked 
in  French,  which  rendered  it  doubly  un- 
intelligible by  the  Indian  girl. 

“Answer!  or  I’ll  blow  out  your 
brains,”  the  voice  continued. 

And  the  sharp  sound  produced  by 
cocking  a pistol  could  be  heard. 

“ Wah  !”  the  girl  replied  in  her  gen- 
tle, melodious  voice,  “ I am  a friend.” 

“ It  is  evidently  a woman,”  the  first 
speaker  growled,  “ but  no  matter,  we 
must  be  prudent,  what  on  earth  does 
she  want  here  ?” 

“ Ilalloh  !”  Brighteye  suddenly  shout- 
ed, aroused  by  this  short  altercation, 
“ what’s  the  matter  there,  what  have 
you  caught,  Ivon  ?” 

“ My  faith,  I don’t  know  ; I believe 
it  is  a woman.” 

“ Eh,  eh,”  the  hunter  said,  with  a 
laugh,  “ let  us  have  a look  at  that  : 
don’t  let  her  escape.” 

“ Don’t  be  alarmed,”  the  Breton  re- 
plied, “ I have  hold  of  her.” 

Prairie  Flower  remained  motionless, 
not  making  the  slightest  effort  to  escape 
from  the  clutch  of  the  man  who  held 
her.  Brighteye  rose,  felt  his  way  to  the 
fire,  and  began  blowing  it  up.  In  a few 
minutes  a bright  flame  burst  forth,  and 
illumined  the  interior  of  the  lodge; 

“ Stay,  stay,”  the  hunter  said,  with 
surprise,  “you  are  welcome,  girl;  what 
do  you  want  here  ?” 

The  Indian  maid  blushed,  and  re- 
plied : — 

“ Prairie  Flower  has  come  to  visit 
her  friends,  the  palefaces.” 

“ The  hour  is  a strange  one,  for  a 
visit,  my  child,”  the  Canadian  con- 
tinued, with  an  ironical  smile  ; “ but  no 
matter,”  he  added,  turning  to  the  Bre- 
ton, “let  her  loose,  Ivon  ; this  enemy, 
if  she  is  one,  is  not  very  dangerous.” 
The  other  obeyed  with  ill  grace. 

“ Come  to  the  fire,  girl,”  the  hunter 
said,  “your  limbs  are  frozen;  when 
you  have  warmed  yourself,  you  can 
tell  us  the  cause  of  your  presence  here 
at  this  late  hour.” 

Prairie  Flower  smiled  sadly,  and  sat 
down  by  the  fire  ; Brighteye  taking  a 
place  by  her  side.  The  girl  had  with 
one  glance  surveyed  the  interior  of  the 
lodge,  and  perceived  the  Count  sleeping 


104 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


tranquilly  on  a pile  of  furs.  Bright- 
eye’s  \vhole  life  had  been  spent  in  the 
desert ; he  was  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  the  character  of  the  redskins,  and 
knew  that  circumspection  and  prudence 
are  their  two  guiding  principles.  That 
an  Indian  never  attempts  anything 
without  having  first  calculated  all  the 
consequences,  and  that  he  never  decides 
on  doing  a thing  contrary  to  Indian 
habits,  except  from  some  pressing  mo- 
tive. The  hunter,  therefore,  suspected 
that  the  object  of  the  young  girl’s  visit 
was  important,  though  unable  to  read, 
beneath  the  mask  of  impassibility  that 
covered  her  face,  the  motive  that  caused 
her  to  act. 

The  redskins  are  not,  like  other  men, 
easy  to  question  ; cunning  and  finesse 
obtain  no  advantage  over  these  doubt- 
ful natives.  The  most  skilful  Old 
Bailey  practitioner  would  get  nothing 
out  of  them,  but  confess  himself  van- 
quished, after  making  an  Indian  under- 
go the  closest  cross-examination.  None 
of  these  shades  of  character  were  un- 
known to  the  hunter ; hence  he  was 
careful  not  to  let  the  girl  suppose  that 
he  took  any  interest  in  her  explanation. 

With  a nod  of  the  head,  Brighteye 
soon  gave  Ivon  the  order  to  go  to  sleep 
again,  which  he  did  immediately. 

The  girl  was  sitting  by  the  fire; 
warming  herself  mechanically,  while 
every  now  and  then  taking  a side  glance 
at  the  hunter.  But  the  latter  had  lit 
his  pipe,  and,  nearly  concealed  by  the 
dense  cloud  of  smoke  that  surrounded 
him,  appeared  completely  absorbed  in 
his  agreeable  occupation.  The  two  re- 
mained thus  face  to  face  nearly  half  an 
hour,  and  did  not  exchange  a word  ; at 
length  Brighteye  shook  out  the  ash  on 
his  left  thumb  nail,  put  his  pipe  in  his 
belt,  and  rose. 

Prairie  Flower  followed  his  every 
movement,  without  appearing  to  attach 
any  importance  to  it;  she  saw  him  col- 
lect furs,  carry  them  to  a dark  corner 
of  the  lodge,  where  he  spread  them  so 
as  to  form  a species  of  bed.  Then, 
when  he  fancied  it  was  soft  enough,  he 
threw  a coverlid  over  it,  and  returned 
to  the  fire. 

“ My  pale  brother  has  prepared  a 
Ded,”  Prairie  Flower  said,  laying  her 


hand  on  his  arm,  just  as  he  was  about 
to  draw  out  his  pipe  again. 

“ Yes,”  he  replied. 

“ Why  four  beds  for  three  persons?” 
Brighteye  looked  at  her  with  a per- 
fectly natural  amazement. 

“ Are  we  not  four  ?”  he  said. 

“ I only  see  the  two  pale  hunters  and 
my  brother — for  whom  is  the  last 

bed  r 

“ For  my  sister,  Prairie  Flower,  I 
suppose.  Has  she  not  come  to  ask  hos- 
pitality of  her  pale  bro  hers  ?” 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

“ The  women  of  my  tribe,”  she  said, 
with  an  accent  of  wounded  pride,  “ have 
their  cabins  for  sleeping,  and  do  not 
pass  the  night  in  the  lodges  of  the  war- 
riors.” 

Brighteye  bowed  respectfully. 

“ I am  mistaken,”  he  said,  “ I did  not 
wish  to  vex  my  sister ; but  on  seeing 
her  enter  my  lodge  so  late,  I supposed 
she  came  to  ask  hospitality.” 

The  girl  smiled  with  finesse. 

“ Mv  brother  is  a great  warrior  of 
the  palefaces,”  she  said,  “ his  head  is 
grey,  he  is  very  cunning  ; why  does  he 
pretend  not  to  know  the  reason  that 
brings  Prairie  Flower  to  his  lodge  ?” 

“ Because  I am  really  ignorant  of  it,” 
he  replied  ; “ how  should  I know  it  ?” 
The  Indian  girl  turned  towards  the 
place  where  the  young  man  was  sleep- 
ing, and  said,  with  a charming  pout : 

“ Glass-eye  knows  all  : he  would 
have  told  my  brother  the  hunter.” 

“ l cannot  deny,”  the  hunter  said, 
boldly,  “ that  Glass-eye  knows  many 
things,  but  in  this  matter  he  has  been 
dumb.” 

“ Is  that  true?”  she  asked,  quickly. 

“ Why  should  I deny  it  ? Prairie 
Flower  is  not  an  enemy  to  us.” 

“ No,  I am  a friend  : let  my  brother 
open  his  ears.”  s 

“ Speak.”  | 

“ Glass  eye  is  powerful.” 

“ So  it  is  said,”  the  hunter  replied, 
evasively,  too  honest  to  stoop  to  a lie. 

“ The  elders  of  the  tribe  regard  him 
as  a genius  superior  to  other  men,  ar- 
ranging events  as  he  pleases,  and  able, 
if  he  will,  to  change  the  course  of  the 
future.” 

“ Who  says  so  ?” 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


105 


<{  Everybody.” 

The  hunter  shook  his  head,  and  press- 
ing the  girl’s  dainty  hands  in  his  own, 
he  said,  simply  : 

“ You  are  deceived,  child  ; Glass-eye 
is  only  a man  like  the  others ; the 
power  you  have  been  told  of  does  not 
exist.  I know  not  for  what  reason  the 
chiefs  of  your  nation  have  spread  this 
absurd  report ; but  it  is  a falsehood, 
which  I must  not  allow  to  go  further.” 

“ No,  White  Buffalo  is  the  wisest 
sachem  of  the  Blackfeet ; he  possesses 
all  the  knowledge  of  his  fathers  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Great  Salt  Lake  : he 
cannot  err.  Did  he  not  announce,  long 
ago,  Glass-eye’s  arrival  among  us  ?” 

“ That  is  possible;  although  I cannot 
guess  how  he  knew  it,  as  only  three 
days  ago  we  were  quite  ignorant  that 
we  were  comi  g to  this  village.” 

The  maiden  smiled  triumphantly. 

“ White  Buffalo  knows  all,”  she  said; 
“ besides,  for  many  thousand  moons 
the  sorcerers  of  the  nation  have  an- 
nounced the  coming  of  a man  exactly  like 
Glass-eye  : his  apparition  was  so  truly 
predicted,  that  his  arrival  surprised  no- 
body, as  all  expected  him.” 

The  hunter  recognized  the  inutility 
of  contending  any  longer  against  a con- 
viction so  deeply  rooted  in  the  young 
girl’s  heart. 

“ Good,”  he  replied,  “ White  Buffalo 
is  a very  wise  sachem.  What  is  there 
he  does  not  know  ?” 

“ Nothing  ! Did  he  not  predict  that 
Glass-eye  would  place  himself  at  the 
head  of  the  redskin  warriors,  and  de- 
liver them  from  the  palefaces  of  the 
East  ?” 

“ Jt  is  true  ;”  the  hunter  said,  though 
he  did  not  know  a word  of  what  the 
girl  was  revealing  to  him  ; but  he  now 
began  to  suspect  a vast  plot  formed  by 
the  Indians,  and  he  naturally  desired  to 
know  more.  Prairie  Flower  looked  at 
him  with  an  expression  of  simple  joy. 

“ My  brother  sees  that  I know  all,” 
she  said. 

“ That  is  true,”  he  answered  ; “ my 
sister  is  better  informed  than  I sup- 
posed ; now  she  can  explaiu  to  me, 
without  fear,  the  service  she  desires 
from  Glass-eye.” 


The  girl  took  a long  glance  at  the 
young  man,  who  was  still  sleeping. 

“ Prairie  Flower  is  suffering,”  she 
said,  in  a low  and  trembling  voice  : “ a 
cloud  has  passed  over  her  mind  and  ob- 
scured it.” 

“ Prairie  Flower  is  sixteen,”  the  old 
hunter  answered,  with  a smile  ; “ a new 
feeling  is  awakened  in  her  ; a little  bird 
is  singing  in  her  heart : she  listened  un- 
consciously  to  the  harmonious  notes  of 
those  strains  which  she  does  not  under- 
stand.” 

“ It  is  true,”  the  maiden  murmured, 
suddenly  growing  pensive,  “ my  heart 
is  sad.  Is  then  love  a suffering  V 1 

“ Child,”  the  hunter  answered,  with  a 
melancholy  accent,  “ creatures  are  thus 
made  by  the  Master  of  Life.  All  sen- 
sation is  suffering.  Joy,  carried  to  an 
excess,  becomes  pain  ; you  love  without 
knowing  it ; loving  is  suffering.” 

“ No,”  she  said,  with  a gesture  of 
terror,  “No,  I do  not  love,  at  least  not 
in  the  way  you  say.  I have  come,  on 
the  contrary,  to  seek  your  protection 
from  a man  who  loves  me,  whose  love 
frightens  me,  and  for  whom  I shall 
never  feel  aught  but  gratitude.” 

“ You  are  quite  certain,  poor  child, 
that  such  is  the  feeling  you  experience 
for  that  man  ?” 

She  bowed  assent.  Without  saying 
anything  further,  Brighteye  rose. 

“ Where  are  you  going]”  she  asked, 
quickly. 

The  hunter  turned  to  her. 

“ In  all  that  you  have  told  me,  child,” 
he  answered,  1 ‘there  are  things  so  im- 
portant, that  l must  without  delay 
arouse  my  friend,  that  he  may  listen  to 
you  in  his  turn,  and,  if  it  be  possible, 
come  to  your  aid.” 

“ Do  so,'’  she  said,  mournfully,  and 
let  her  head  sink  on  her  breast.  The 
hunter  went  up  to  the  young  man,  and 
bending  over  him,  touched  him  gently 
on  the  shoulder.  The  Count  awoke  at 
once. 

“ What  is  it  ? What  do  you  want?” 
he  said,  rising  and  seizing  his  weapons, 
with  the  promptness  that  a man  con- 
stantly exposed  to  danger  so  soon  ac- 
quires. 

“ Nothing  that  need  frighten  you, 


106 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRATRTE. 


Mr.  Edward.  That  young  girl  wishes 
to  speak  to  you.” 

The  Count  followed  the  direction  in 
which  the  hunter  pointed,  and  his  glance 
met  that  of  the  maiden.  It  was  like 
an  electric  shock  ; she  tottered,  laid  her 
hand  on  her  heart,  and  blushed.  The 
Erenchman  rushed  toward  her. 

“ What  is  the  matter  ? what  can  I do 
to  help  you1?”  he  asked. 

Just  as  she  was  about  to  reply,  the 
curtain  was  lifted  ; a man  bounded  sud- 
denly over  Ivon,  and  reached  the  centre 
of  the  hut.  It  was  the  spy  ; the  Breton, 
suddenly  aroused,  flung  himself  on  him, 
but  the  Indian  held  him  back  with  a 
firm  hand. 

“ Look  out !”  he  said. 

“Red  Wolf!’’  the  girl  exclaimed, 
joyfully,  as  she  stepped  before  him  ; 
“ lower  your  weapons,  it  is  a friend.” 

“ Speak,”  the  Count  said,  as  he  re- 
turned the  pistol  to  his  belt. 

The  Indian  had  made  no  attempt  to 
defend  himself;  he  awaited  stoically 
the  moment  to  explain  himself. 

“ Natah  Otann  is  coming,”  he  said  to 
the  maiden. 

“ Oh  ! I am  lost  if  he  find  me  here.” 

“ What  do  I care  for  the  fellow  ?”  the 
Count  said,  haughtily. 

“ Prudence,”  Brighteye  interposed  ; 
“are  you  a friend,  redskin  ?” 

“ Ask  Prairie  Flower,”  he  answered, 
disdainfully. 

v Good  ; then  you  have  come  to  save 
her  ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ You  have  a way  ?” 

“ I have.” 

“I  don’t  understand  anything  about 
it,”  Ivon  said  to  himself,  aside,  quite 
confounded  by  all  he  saw ; “ what  a 
night !” 

■ “ Make  haste  !”  said  the  Count. 

“Neither  Prairie  Flower  nor  myself 
must  be  seen  here,”  the  Red  Wolf  con- 
tinued; “Natah  Otann  is  my  enemy  ; 
there  is  deadly  war  between  us.  Throw 
all  those  furs  on  the  girl.” 

Prairie  Flower  crouching  in  a corner, 
soon  disappeared  beneath  the  skins 
piled  over  her. 

“ Hum,  it  is  a good  idea,”  Brighteye 
muttered  ; “ and  what  are  you  going  to  j 
do  V1 


“ Look  !” 

Ived  Wolf  leaned  against  the  buffalo 
hides  that  acted  as  a door,  and  con- 
cealed himself  amid  the  folds.  Hardiy 
had  all  this  been  done,  ere  Natah  Otann 
appeared  on  the  threshold. 

“What!  up  already?”  he  said,  in 
surprise,  turning  a suspicious  glance 
around  him. 

Red  Wolf  profited  by  this  move- 
ment to  go  out  unseen  by  the  chief. 

“ I am  come  to  receive  ycur  orders 
for  the  hunt,”  Natah  Otann  resumed. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

FORT  MACKENZIE  . 

Fort  Mackenzie,  built  in  1832  by 
Major  Mitchell,  Chief  Agent  to  the 
North  American  Fur  Company,  stands 
like  a menacing  sentry,  about  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty  paces  from  the  north 
bank  of  the  Missouri,  and  seventy  miles 
from  the  Rocky  Mountains,  in  the  midst 
of  a level  plain,  protected  by  a chain 
of  hills  running  from  north  to  south. 
The  fort  is  built  on  the  system  of  all 
these  outposts  of  civilization  in  the 
western  provinces  ; it  forms  a perfect 
square,  each  side  being  about  forty-five 
feet  in  length  ; a ditch,  eight  fathoms 
in  depth  and  about  the  same  in  width  ; 
two  substantial  blockhouses  ; and  twen- 
ty guns — such  are  the  defensive  ele- 
ments of  this  fortress.  The  buildings 
contained  in  the  enciente  are  low,  with 
narrow  windows,  in  which  parchment 
is  substituted  for  glass.  The  roofs  are 
flat,  and  covered  with  turf.  The  gate- 
ways of  the  fort  are  solid  and  lined 
with  iron.  In  the  middle  of  a small 
square,  in  the  centre  of  the  fort,  rises  a 
mast,  from  which  floats  the  star-span- 
gled banner  of  the  United  States,  while 
turn  guns  are  stationed  at  the  foot  of 
the  mast. 

The  plain  surrounding  Fort  Macken- 
zie is  covered  with  grass,  rarely  more 
than  three  feet  high.  This  plain  is  al 
most  constantly  invaded  by  Indian 
tribes,  that  come  to  traffic  with  the 
Americans,  especially  the  Blackfeet,  As- 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


107 


siniboins,  Mandans,  Flatheads,  Gros- 
ventres,  Crows,  and  Koutnikes. 

The  Indians  displayed  a repugnance 
in  allowing  the  white  men  to  settle  in 
their  domains,  and  the  first  agent  the 
Fur  Company  sent  to  them  had  a nar- 
row escape  with  life.  It  was  only  by 
dint  of  patience  and  cunning,  that  they 
succeeded  in  concluding  with  the  tribes 
a treaty  of  peace  and  barter,  which  the 
latter  were  disposed,  indeed,  to  break, 
through  the  slightest  pretext.  Thus 
the  Americans  were  always  on  the 
watch,  considering  themselves  in  a per- 
petual state  of  siege. 

It  still  happened  at  times,  in  spite  of 
the  Indians’  protestations  of  amity,  that 
some  engage  or  trapper  cf  the  Company 
was  brought  to  the  fort  scalped  and  mur- 
dered, and  they  were  obliged  through 
policy,  to  refrain  from  taking  vengeance 
for  such  murders,  which,  however,  were 
becoming  rare. 

The  Indians,  with  their  greedy  in- 
stincts, at  length  understood  that  it  was 
better  to  live  in  good  intelligence  with 
the  palefaces,  who  supplied  them  with 
abundant  provisions,  spirits  and  money, 
in  exchange  for  their  furs. 

In  1834,  Fort  Mackenzie  was  com- 
manded by  Major  Melville,  a man  of 
great  experience,  who  had  spent  nearly 
his  whole  life  among  the  Indians,  either 
fighting  or  trafficking  with  them,  so  that 
he  was  thoroughly  versed  in  all  their 
habits  and  tricks.  General  Jackson,  in 
whose  army  he  had  served,  put  great 
reliance  in  his  courage,  skill,  and  expe- 
rience. 

Major  Melville  combined,  with  un 
common  moral  energy,  rare  physical 
strength  ; he  was  the  very  man  to  keep 
in  check  the  fierce  tribes  with  which  he 
had  to  deal,  and  to  command  the  trap- 
pers and  hunters  in  the  Company’s  ser- 
vice, thorough  ruffians,  only  understand- 
ing the  logic  of  the  rifle  and  bowie 
knife  ; he  based  his  authority  on  inflex- 
ible severity  and  an  irreproachable  jus- 
tice, which  had  contributed  greatly  to 
maintain  the  good  relations  between  the 
inhabitants  of  the  fort  and  their  crafty 
friends. 

Peace,  with  the  exception  of  the 
mutual  distrust  that  was  its  basis,  ap- 
peared for  some  few  years  past  to  be 

7 


solidly  established  between  the  pale 
faces  and  the  redskins.  The  Indians 
camped  annually  before  the  fort,  and 
generally  exchanged  their  peltry  for 
spirits,  clothes,  gunpowder,  etc.  The 
seventy  men  who  formed  the  garrison 
had  gradually  relaxed  their  usual  pre- 
cautions, for  they  felt  so  confident  of 
having  induced  the  Indians  to  renounce 
their  plundering  inclinations  by  kind 
treatment  and  concessions. 

Such  was  the  respective  positions  of 
the  whites  and  the  redskins  on  the  day 
when  the  exigencies  of  our  story  takes 
us  to  Fort  Mackenzie. 

The  scenery  round  the  fort  is  exqui- 
site and  charmingly  varied. 

On  the  day  after  that  in  which  the 
events  we  have  described  took  place  in 
the  Kenha  village,  a leather  canoe,  man- 
ned by  only  one  rower,  descended  the 
Elk  River,  in  the  direction  of  the 
American  fort.  After  following  the 
numerous  bends  of  the  stream,  the  canoe 
at  length  entered  the  Missouri,  and 
coasted  the  northern  bank,  studded 
with  magnificent  prairies,  at  least  thirty 
miles  in  depth,  on  which  countless  herds 
of  buffaloes,  antelopes,  and  bighorns- 
were  grazing,  which,  with  ears  erect  andi 
startled  eyes,  watched  the  silent  boat 
pass  with  gloomy  dissatisfaction.  But 
the  person,  man  or  woman,  in  the  boat 
seemed  too  anxious  to  reach  the  desti- 
nation, to  waste  any  time  in  firing  at 
these  animals,  which  it  would  have  been 
easy  to  do. 

With  his  eyes  imperturbably  fixed 
ahead,  and  bowed  over  the  paddles,  the 
rower  redoubled  his  energy  the  nearer 
he  approached  the  fort,  uttering  at  times 
hoarse  exclamations  of  anger  and  impa- 
tience, though  ne^er  checking  the  speed 
of  the  boat.  At  length  an  “ ah  !”  of 
satisfaction  escaped  his  lips,  on  turning 
one  of  the  numberless  bends  of  the 
river  : a magnificent  scene  was  sudden- 
ly displayed  before  him. 

Gentle  slopes,  with  varied  summits, 
some  rounded,  others  flat,  of  a pleasant 
green  color,  occupied  the  centre  of  the 
picture.  In  the  foreground  were  tall 
forests  of  poplars  of  a vivid  green,  and 
willow  trees  on  the  banks  of  the  river, 
which  meandered  through  a prairie  to 
which  the  twilight  had  given  a deeo 


108 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


olive  hue.  A little  further  on,  on  the 
top  of  a grassy  mound,  stood  Fort 
Mackenzie,  where  the  handsome  flag  of 
the  United  States  floated  in  the  breeze, 
gilded  by  the  parting  beams  of  the  set- 
ting sun  ; while  on  one  side  an  Indian 
camp,  on  the  other,  herds  of  horses, 
tranquilly  grazing,  animated  the  majes- 
tic tranquillity  of  the  scene. 

The  canoe  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to 
the  bank,  and  at  last,  when  arrived  under 
the  protection  of  the  guns,  was  run 
gently  ashore.  The  individual  occupy- 
ing it  then  leaped  on  the  sand,  and  it 
was  easy  to  see  that  it  was  a woman. 

It  was  the  mysterious  being  to  whom 
the  Indians  gave  the  name  of  the  She- 
wolf  of  the  Prairies,  and  who  has  already 
appeared  twice  in  this  story. 

She  had  altered  her  dress.  Although 
still  resembling  that  of  the  Indians  in 
texture,  as  it  was  composed  of  elk  and 
buffalo  skins  sewn  together,  it  varied 
from  it  in  shape;  and  if,  at  the  first 
glance,  it  was  difficult  to  recognize  the 
sex  of  the  person  wearing  it,  it  was  easy 
to  perceive  that  it  was  a white,  through 
the  simplicity,  cleanliness,  and,  above 
all,  the  amplitude  of  the  folds  carefully 
draped  round  the  strange  being  hidden 
in  these  garments. 

After  leaving  the  canoe,  the  She-wolf 
fastened  it  securely  to  a large  stone,  and 
without  paying  further  attention  to  it, 
walked  hastily  in  the  direction  of  the 
fort. 

It  was  about  six  in  the  evening;  the 
barter  with  the  Indians  was  over,  and 
they  were  returning,  laughing  and  sing- 
ing, to  their  tents  of  buffalo  hide,  while 
the  engages,  after  collecting  the  horses, 
led  them  back  slowly  to  the  fort.  The 
sun  was  setting  behind  the  snowy  peaks 
of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  casting  a pur- 
ple gleam  over  the  heavens.  Gradually, 
as  the  planet  of  day  sank  in  the  distant 
? horizon,  gloom  took  possession  of  the 
f»arth.  The  songs  of  the  Indians,  the 
shouts  of  the  engages,  the  neighing  of 
the  horses,  and  the  barking  of  the  dogs, 
formed  one  of  those  singular  concerts 
which,  in  these  remote  regions,  impress 
on  the  mind  a feeling  of  melancholy  re- 
flection. 

The  She-wolf  reached  the  gate  of  the 
fort  at  the  moment  when  the  last  en- 


gage had  entered,  after  driving  in  the 
laggards  of  his  troop. 

At  these  frontier  posts,  where  mo- 
mentary vigilance  is  necessary  to  foil 
the  treachery  constantly  lurking  in  the 
shadows,  sentinels  especially  appointed 
to  survey  the  gloomy  and  solitary  prai- 
ries, that  stretch  out  for  miles  around 
their  garrisons,  stand  watching  day  and 
night,  with  their  eyes  fixed  on  space, 
ready  to  signalize  the  least  unusual 
movement,  either  on  the  part  of  animals 
or  of  men,  in  the  vast  solitudes  they 
survey. 

The  She-wolf’s  canoe  had  been  de- 
tected more  than  six  hours  before,  all 
its  movements  carefully  watched,  and 
when  the  She-wolf,  after  fastening  hei 
boat  up,  presented  herself  at  the  gate 
of  the  fort,  she  found  it  closed  and  care 
fully  bolted — not  because  she  personally 
caused  the  garrison  any  alarm,  but  be 
cause  the  order  was  that  no  one  should 
enter  the  fort  after  sunset,  except  for 
overpowering  reasons. 

The  She-wolf  repressed  with  difficulty 
a gesture  of  annoyance  at  finding  her- 
self thus  exposed  to  spend  the  night  in 
the  open  air;  not  that  she  feared  the 
hardship,  but  because  she  knew  the  im- 
portance of  her  news,  and  desired  no 
delay.  She  did  not  allow  herself  to  be 
defeated,  however,  but  stooped,  picked 
up  a stone,  and  struck  the  gate  twice. 
A wicket  immediately  opened,  and  two 
eyes  glistened  through  the  opening  it 
left. 

“ Who’s  there  1”  a rough  voice  asked. 

" A friend,”  the  She-wolf  replied. 

“ Hum ; that’s  very  vague  at  this 
hour  of  the  night,”  the  voice  continued, 
with  a grin  that  augured  ill  for  the  suc- 
cess of  the  mediation  the  She-wolf  had 
commenced.  “ Who  are  you  ?” 

“ A woman,  and  a white  woman  too, 
as  you  can  see  by  my  dress  and  ac- 
cent.” 

“ It  may  be,  but  the  night  is  dark, 
and  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  see  you  : 
so  if  you  have  no  better  reasons  to  give, 
good  night,  and  go  your  ways ; to-mor 
row  we  will  meet  again  at  sunrise.” 

And  the  speaker  prepared  to  close  the 
wicket,  but  the  She-wolf  cheoked  him 
with  a firm  hand. 

“ One  moment,”  she  said. 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


109 


“ What’s  up  now  ?”  the  other  re- 
marked, ill-temperedly.  “ I cannot  pass 
the  night  in  listening  to  you.” 

“ I only  want  to  ask  you  one  ques- 
tion, and  one  favor.” 

“ Plague  take  it !”  the  man  went  on. 
“ Well,  you  are  going  on  at  a fine  rate  ; 
that’s  nothing,  eh?  Well,  let  me  hear 
it;  that  binds  me  to  nothing.” 

“ Is  Major  Melville  in  the  fort  at  this 
moment  V9 
“ Perhaps.” 

“ Answer,  yes  or  no.” 

“ Well,  yes  ; what  then  V9 
The  She- wolf  gave  a sigh  of  satisfac- 
tion, hurriedly  drew  a ring  from  her 
right  hand,  and  passing  it  through  the 
wicket  to  the  unknown  speaker,  said  : 

“ Carry  that  ring  to  the  Major  ; I 
will  wait  for  your  answer  here.” 

“ Mind  what  you  are  about  ; the 
Commandant  does  not  like  to  be  dis- 
turbed for  nothing.” 

“ Do  as  I tell  you.  I answer  for  the 
rest.” 

“ That’s  a poor  bail,”  the  other 
growled  ; “ but  no  matter.  I’ll  risk  it. 
Wait.” 

The  wicket  closed. 

The  She-wolf  seated  herself  on  the 
side  of  the  moat,  and  with  elbows  rest- 
ing on  her  knees,  buried  her  head  in  her 
hands. 

By  this  time  night  had  completely 
set  in  : in  the  distance,  the  fires  lighted 
up  by  the  Indians  on  the  prairie  shone 
like  lighthouses  in  the  gloom  ; the  even- 
ing breeze  soughed  hoarsely  through 
the  tops  of  the  trees,  and  the  howls  of 
wild  beasts  were  mingled  at  intervals 
with  the  strident  laughter  of  the  Indi- 
ans. 

Not  a star  sparkled  in  the  sky, which 
was  as  black  as  ink  ; nature  seemed 
covered  with  a sere-cloth  ; all  presaged 
an  approaching  storm. 

The  She-wolf  waited,  motionless  as 
one  of  those  patient  sphynxes  which 
have  watched  for  thousands  of  years  at 
the  entrance  of  the  Egyptian  temples. 
A quarter  of  an  hour  elapsed,  then  a 
sound  of  bolts  was  heard,  and  the  gates 
of  the  fort  slightly  opened. 

The  She-wolf  sprang  up,  as  if  moved 
by  a spring. 


“ Come  !”  a voice  said. 

She  entered,  and  the  door  was  imme- 
diately closed  after  her.  An  engage — • 
the  same  who  had  spoken  to  her  thiough 
the  wicket — stood  before  her,  with  a 
torch  in  his  hand. 

“ Follow  me,”  he  said  to  her. 

She  walked  after  her  guide,  who 
crossed  the  entire  length  of  the  court- 
yard, and  then  turning  to  the  She-wolf, 
said  : 

“ The  Major  is  waiting  for  you  here.” 

“ Rap,”  she  said. 

“ No,  do  so  yourself ; you  no  longer 
need  me  ; I will  return  to  my  post.” 

Aud,  after  bowing  slightly,  he  with- 
drew, carrying  the  torch  with  him. 

The  She-wolf  remained  alone  in  the 
darkness ; she  passed  her  hand  over  her 
damp  forehead,  and  making  a supreme 
effort  : 

“ I must,”  she  muttered,  hoarsely. 

She  then  struck  the  door. 

“ Come  in  !”  a voice  said  from  with- 
in. 

She  turned  the  knob,  pushed  open  the 
door,  and  found  herself  in  the  presence 
of  an  elderly  man  dressed  in  uniform, 
and  seated  near  a table,  who  gazed  fix- 
edly at  her.  This  man,  by  the  position 
he  occupied,  and  the  way  in  which  the 
light  was  arranged,  could  see  her  per- 
fectly ; while,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
She-wolf  could  not  distinguish  his  fea- 
tures, hidden  as  they  were  by  the  gloom. 
The  She-wolf  walked  resolutely  into  the 
room. 

“Thanks  for  having  received  me,” 
she  said  ; “ 1 was  afraid  you  had  utter- 
ly forgotten.” 

“ If  that  is  meant  for  a reproach,  I do 
not  understand  you,”  the  officer  said, 
sternly,  “and  I should  feel  obliged  by  a 
clear  explanation.” 

“ Are  you  not  Major  Melville  V9 

“ I am.” 

“ The  way  in  which  I entered  the 
fort  proves  to  me  that  you  recognized 
the  ring  I sent  you.” 

“ I recognized  it ; for  it  reminds  me 
of  a very  dear  person,”  he  said,  with  a 
suppressed  sigh ; “ but  how  is  it  in 
your  hands  ?” 

The  She-wolf  regarded  the  Major  sad 
ly  for  a moment,  then  walked  up  to 


110 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


him,  gently  took  his  hand,  which  she 
pressed  in  her’s,  and  replied  in  an  accent 
Full  of  tears  : 

“ Harry  ! I must  be  changed  by  suf- 
fering, if  you  do  not  even  recognize  my 
voice.” 

At  these  words,  a livid  pallor  covered 
the  officer’s  face ; he  rose  with  a move- 
' ment  quick  as  lightning ; his  body  was 
agitated  by  a convulsive  tremor,  and 
seizing  in  his  turn,  the  woman’s  hands, 
he  exclaimed  madly  : 

“ Margaret ! Margaret  ! my  sister  ! 
Have  the  dead  come  from  the  grave  ! 
Do  I find  you  again  at  last  ?” 

“ Ah  1”  she  said  with  an  expression 
of  joy  impossible  to  render,  as  she  sank 
in  his  arms,  “ 1 was  certain  he  would 
recognize  me.” 

But  the  shock  she  had  received  was 
too  strong  for  the  poor  woman,  whose 
organization  was  worn  out  by  sorrow  ; 
accustomed  to  suffering,  she  could  not 
endure  joy,  and  fell  fainting  into  her 
brother’s  arms.  The  Major  carried  her 
to  a species  of  sofa  that  occupied  one 
side  of  the  room,  and,  without  calling 
any  one  to  his  aid,  paid  her  all  that  at- 
tention her  case  required. 

The  She-wolf  remained  for  a long 
time  insensible;  but  she  gradually 
came  to  herself  again,  opened  her  eyes, 
and  after  muttering  a few  incoherent 
words,  burst  into  tears. 

Her  brother  did  not  leave  her  for  a 
moment,  following  with  an  anxious 
glance,  the  progress  of  her  return  to 
life.  When  he  perceived  that  the  height 
of  the  crisis  was  past,  he  took  a chair, 
sat  down  by  his  sister's  side,  and  by 
gentle  words  sought  to  restore  her  cou- 
rage. At  length  the  poor  woman  raised 
her  head,  dried  her  eyes — reddened  by 
tears,  and  hollowed  by  fever — and  turn- 
ing to  her  brother,  who  watched  her 
j every  movement,  said  in  a hoarse 
voice : 

“ Brother,  for  sixteen  years  I have 
been  suffering  an  atrocious  martyrdom, 
which  never  ceased  for  an  instant.” 

The  Major  shuddered  at  this  fearful 
revelation. 

“ Poor  sister  ?”  he  muttered.  “ What 
can  I do  for  you  V’ 

“ All,  if  you  will,” 

“ Oh !”  he  exclaimed,  with  energy, 


as  he  struck  the  wood-work  of  the  sofa 
with  his  fist,  “could  you  doubt  me, 
Margaret  ?” 

“ No,  since  I have  come,”  she  an- 
swered, smiling  through  her  tears. 

“ You  would  avenge  yourself,  I 
think  ?”  he  went  on. 

“ 1 will.” 

“ Who  are  your  enemies  ?” 

“ The  redskins.” 

“ Ah,  ah !”  he  said,  with  a bitter 
smile  ; “ I too,  have  an  old  account  to 
settle  with  those  demons.  To  what 
nation  do  your  enemies  belong  ?” 

“ To  the  Blackfeet.  They  are  the 
Kenha  tribe.” 

“ Oh,”  the  Ma:or  continued,  “ my 
old  friends,  the  Blood  Indians  ; 1 have 
long  been  seeking  a pretext  to  give 
them  an  exemplary  punishment.” 

“ That  pretext  I now  bring  you,  Hen- 
ry,” she  answered,  passionately  ; “ and 
do  not  fancy  it  a vain  pretext  invented 
by  hatred.  No,  no  ! ’tis  the  revelation 
of  a plot  formed  by  all  the  Missouri 
Indians  against  the  whites,  w'hich  must 
break  out  within  a few  days,  perhaps 
to-morrow.” 

“ Ah  ! ’ the  Major  observed,  thought- 
fully, “ 1 do  not  know  why,  but,  for  the 
last  few  days,  suspicions  have  invaded 
my  mind  ; my  presentiments  did  not 
deceive  me,  then.  Speak,  sister,  at 
once,  I conjure  you  ; and  since  you  have 
come  to  me,  in  order  to  appease  your 
hatred  of  those  red  devils,  1 promise 
you  a vengeance,  the  memory  of  which, 
will  make  their  grandsons  shudder.” 

“ I thank  you  for  your  promise, 
brother,  and  will  not  forget  it,”  she  an- 
swered. “ Listen  to  me  then.” 

“ One  word  first.” 

“ Speak,  brother.”  . 

“ Has  the  narrative  of  your  sufferings 
anything  to  do  with  the  conspiracy  you 
are  about  to  reveal  to  me  ?” 

“ An  intimate  one,” 

“ Well  it  is  scarce  ten  o’clock,  we 
have  the  night  before  us ; tell  me  all 
that  has  happened  to  you  since  our  sep- 
aration.” 

“ You  wish  it  V’ 

“ Yes,  for  it  will  be  by  your  narrative 
that  I shall  regulate  my  treatment  of 
the  Indians.” 

“ Listen  then,  brother,  and  be  indul- 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


Ill 


gent  to  me  ; for  I have  suffered  bitterly, 
as  you  are  about  to  hear.” 

The  Major  pressed  her  hand ; lie  took 
a chair,  sat  by  her  side,  and  after  bolt- 
ing the  door,  to  prevent  any  interrup- 
tion of  the  story,  he  said  : 

“Speak,  Margaret,  and  tell  me  every- 
thing ; 1 do  not  wish  to  be  ignorant  of 
any  of  the  tortures  you  have  endured 
during  the  long  years  that  have  elapsed 
since  our  last  meeting.” 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

a mother’s  confession. 

11  It  is  just  seventeen  years  ago,  you 
will  remember,  Harry  ; you  had  recent- 
ly received  your  commission  as  lieuten- 
ant in  the  army  ; you  were  young,  en- 
thusiastic; the  future  appeared  to  you 
to  be  drawn  in  the  brightest  colors. 

“ One  evening,  during  weather  like 
the  present,  you  came  to  my  husband’s 
clearing,  to  tell  us  the  news,  and  bade 
us  an  affectionate  farewell ; for  you 
hoped,  like  ourselves,  not  to  be  long 
away  from  us.  The  next  morning,  in 
spite  of  our  entreaties,  after  embracing 
the  children,  pressing  the  hand  of  my 
poor  husband,  who  loved  you  so,  and 
giving  me  a parting  kiss,  you  gallopped 
off,  and  soon  disappeared  in  a whirlwind 
of  dust.  Alas  ! who  could  have  fore- 
told that  we  should  not  meet  again  till 
to-day,  after  seventeen  years’  separa- 
tion, upon  Indian  territory,  and  under 
terrible  circumstances  1 However,”  she 
added,  with  a sigh,  “ God  has  willed  it 
so,  may  His  holy  name  be  blessed ; it 
has  pleased  Him  to  try  His  creatures, 
and  let  His  hand  fall  heavily  on  them.” 

“ It  was  with  a strange  contraction  of 
the  heart,”  the  Major  said*  “ that  six 
months  after  that  parting,  when  I re- 
turned among  you  with  a joyous  heart, 

I saw  on  dismounting  in  front  of  the 
house,  a stranger  open  your  door,  and 
answer,  that  the  white  family  had  emi- 
grated six  months  before,  and  proceeded 
in  a western  direction,  with  the  inten- 
tion of  founding  a new  settlement  on 
the  Indian  frontier.  It  was  in  vain  that 
I tried  to  gain  any  information  about 


you  from  your  neighbors  ; they  had  for- 
gotten you  ; no  one  could  or  would,  per- 
haps, give  me  the  slightest  news  about 
you,  and  I was  forced  to  retrace,  heart- 
broken, the  road  I had  ridden  along  so 
joyfully  a few  days  before.  Since  then, 
despite  all  the  efforts  I have  made,  I 
never  was  able  to  learn  anything  about 
your  fate,  or  lift  the  mysterious  veil 
that  covered  the  sinister  events,  to  which 
1 was  convinced  you  had  fallen  victims 
during  your  journey.” 

“ You  are  only  half  deceived,  my 
brother,  in  your  supposition,”  she  went 
on.  “ Two  months  after  your  visit,  my 
husband,  who  had  long  desired  to  leave 
our  clearing,  where  he  said  the  land  was 
worth  nothing,  had  a grave  dispute  with 
one  of  his  neighbors  about  the  limits  of 
a field,  of  which  he  believed,  or  pretend- 
ed to  believe,  that  neighbor  had  cut  off 
a corner  ; under  any  other  circumstan- 
ces, the  difference  would  have  been  easi- 
ly settled,  but  my  husband  sought  an 
excuse  to  go  away,  and  having  found  it, 
did  not  let  it  slip  again.  He  would  lis- 
ten to  nothing,  but  quietly  made  all  his 
arrangements  for  the  expedition  he  had 
so  long  meditated,  and  at  length  told  us 
one  day  that  he  should  start  the  next. 
When  my  husband  had  once  said  a 
thing,  all  I could  do  was  to  obey,  for  he 
never  recalled  a determination  he  had 
formed. 

“ On  the  appointed  day  at  sunrise,  we 
left  the  clearing,  our  neighbors  accom- 
panying us  for  the  first  day’s  journey, 
and  at  nightfall  left  us,  after  hearty 
wishes  for  the  success  of  our  expedition. 
It  was  with  inexpressible  sorrow  I quit- 
ted the  house  where  I was  married, 
where  my  children  was  born,  and  where 
1 had  been  happy  for  so  many  years. 
My  husband  tried  in  vain  to  console  me, 
and  restore  me  that  courage  which  fail- 
ed me ; but  nothing  could  efface  from 
my  mind  the  gentle  and  pious  recollec- 
tions I previously  kept  up ; the  deeper 
we  buried  ourselves  in  the  desert,  the 
greater  my  sorrow  became.  My  hus- 
band on  the  other  hand,  saw  everything 
in  a bright  light;  the  future  belonged 
to  him  ; he  was  about  to  be  his  own 
master,  and  act  as  he  thought  proper. 
He  detailed  to  me  all  his  plans,  tried  to 
interest  me  in  them,  and  employed  all 


112 


THE  FLOWER  OF  TIIE  PRAIRIE. 


the  means  in  his  power  to  draw  me  from 
my  gloomy  thoughts,  but  could  not 
succeed. 

“ Still  we  went  onwards  without 
stopping.  The  distance  became  daily 
greater  between  ourselves  and  the  last 
settlements  of  our  countrymen.  In 
vain  did  I show  my  husband  how  re- 
mote we  were  from  all  help  in  case  of 
danger,  and  the  isolation  in  which  we 
should  find  ourselves;  he  only  laughed 
at  my  apprehensions;  repeated  inces- 
santly that  the  Indians  were  far  from 
being  so  dangerous  as  they  were  repre- 
sented, and  that  we  had  nothing  to  fear. 
My  husband  was  so  convinced  of  the 
truth  of  his  assertions,  that  he  neglected 
the  most  simple  precautions  to  defend 
himself  against  a surprise,  and  said  each 
morning  with  a mocking  air,  at  the  mo- 
ment of  starting. 

“ ‘ You  see  how  foolish  you  are,  Mar- 
garet ; be  reasonable,  the  Indians  will 
be  careful  not  to  offend  us.’ 

“ One  night  the  camp  was  attacked 
by  the  redskins,  we  were  surprised  dur- 
ing our  sleep ; my  husband  was  flayed 
alive,  while  his  children  were  burned 
at  a slow  fire  before  his  face.” 

While  uttering  these  words,  the  poor 
woman’s  voice  became  more  and  more 
choked.  At  the  last  sentences,  her 
emotion  grew  so  profound,  that  she 
could  not  continue. 

“ Courage  !”  the  Major  said,  as  much 
moved  as  herself,  but  more  master  of 
his  feelings. 

She  made  an  effort,  and  continued,  in 
a harsh,  unmodulated  voice  : 

“By  a refinement  of  cruelty,  the 
barbarism  of  which  I did  not  at  first 
understand,  my  youngest  child,  my 
daughter,  was  spared  by  the  pagans. 
On  seeing  the  punishment  of  my  hus- 
band and  children,  at  which  I was 
forced  to  be  present,  I felt  such  a lacer- 
ation of  the  heart,  that  I imagined  I 
was  dying.  I uttered  a shriek,  and  fell 
down.  How  long  I remained  in  that 
state,  I know  not;  but  when  I regained 
my  senses,  I was  alone.  The  Indians, 
doubtlessly,  fancied  me  dead,  and  lelt 
me  where  I lay. 

“ I rose,  and  not  conscious  of  what  I 
was  doing,  but  impelled  by  a force 
superior  to  my  will,  I returned,  totter- 


ing and  falling  almost  at  every  step,  to 
the  sppt  where  this  mournful  tragedy 
had  been  enacted.  It  took  me  three 
hours — how  was  I so  far  from  the 
camp  ? — at  length  I arrived,  and  a fear- 
ful sight  presented  itself  to  my  horror- 
struck  eyes.  1 looked  unconscious  upon 
the  disfigured  and  half  carbonized  bodies 
of  my  children — my  despair,  however, 
restored  my  failing  strength.  I dug  a 
grave,  and,  half  delirious  with  grief, 
buried  in  it  husband  and  children,  all 
that  I loved  on  earth. 

“ This  pious  duty  accomplished,  I re- 
solved to  die  at  the  spot  where  the 
beings  so  dear  to  me  had  perished.  But 
there  are  hours  during  the  long  nights, 
in  which  the  shades  of  the  dead  address 
the  living,  and  order  them  to  take  ven- 
geance ! That  terrific  voice  from  the 
tomb  I heard  on  a sinister  night,  when 
the  elements  threatened  to  overthrow 
nature. 

“ From  that  moment  my  resolution 
was  formed.  I consented  to  live  for 
revenge.  From  that  hour,  I have 
walked  firm  and  implacable  on  the  path 
I traced,  requiting  the  Pagans,  on  every 
opportunity  that  presents  itself,  for  the 
evil  they  had  done  me.  I have  become 
the  terror  of  the  prairies.  The  Indians 
fear  me  as  an  evil  genius.  They  have 
a superstitious,  invincible  dread  of  me  ; 
in  short,  they  have  surnamed  me  the 
Lying  She-wolf  of  the  Prairies,  for  each 
time  a catastrophe  menaces  them,  or  a 
frightful  danger  is  hanging  over  their 
heads,  they  see  me  appear. 

“ For  seventeen  years  I have  been 
nursing  my  revenge,  certain  that  the 
day  will  come  when,  in  my  turn,  I shall 
plant  my  knee  on  the  heart  of  my  ene- 
mies, and  inflict  on  them  the  atrocious 
torture  they  condemned  me  to  suffer.” 

The  woman’s  face,  while  uttering 
these  words,  had  assumed  such  an  ex- 
pression of  cruelty,  that  the  major, 
brave  as  he  was,  felt  himself  shudder. 

“ And  your  enemies,”  he  said,  after  a 
moment’s  delay,  “ do  you  know  them, 
have  you  learned  their  names  ?” 

“ l know  them  all !”  she  said,  in  a 
piercing  voice,  “ I have  learned  all  their 
names !” 

“ And  they  are  preparing  to  break 
the  peace  V 1 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


113 


Mrs.  Margaret  smiled  ironically. 

“ No,  they  will  not  break  the  peace, 
brother,  but  attack  you  suddenly. 
They  have  formed  a formidable  league, 
which — at  least  they  fancy  so — you  will 
find  it  impossible  to  resist.” 

“ Sister!”  the  Major  exclaimed,  ener- 
getically, “give  me  the  names  of  these 
jwretched  traitors,  and  I swear  that, 
’even  were  they  concealed  in  the  depths 
of  Hades,  I will  seek  them,  to  inflict  an 
exemplary  chastisement.” 

“ I cannot  give  you  these  names  yet, 
brother ; but  be  at  ease,  you  shall  soon 
know  them ; you  will  not  have  to  seek 
them  far,  for  I will  lead  them  under  the 
guns  of  your  soldiers  and  hunters.” 

“ Take  care,  Margaret,”  the  Major 
said,  shaking  his  head,  “hatred  is  a bad 
counsellor  in  an  affair  like  this ; he  who 
grasps  at  too  much,  frequently  risks 
the  loss  of  all.” 

“ Oh!”  she  replied,  “ my  precautions 
'have  been  taken  for  a long  time : I hold 
them,  I can  seize  them  wherever  I 
please ; or,  to  speak  more  correctly, 
when  the  moment  has  arrived.” 

“ Do  as  you  think  proper,  sister,  and 
reckon  on  my  devoted  aid : this  ven- 
geance affects  me  too  closely  for  me  to 
allow  it  to  escape.” 

“ Thanks,”  she  said. 

“ Pardon  me  ;”  he  continued,  after  a 
few  minutes5  reflection,  “ if  I revert  to 
the  sad  events  you  have  just  narrated  ; 
but  you  have,  it  strikes  me,  forgotten 
an  important  detail  in  your  story.” 

“ 1 do  not  understand  you,  Harry.” 
“ I will  explain  : you  said,  I think,  if 
my  memory  serves  me,  that  your 
youngest  daughter  escaped  from  the 
frightful  fate  of  her  brothers,  and  was 
saved  by  an  Indian.” 

“ Yes,  1 did  say  so,  brother,”  she  re- 
plied, in  an  oppressed  voice. 

“ Well,  what  has  become  of  the  un- 
happy child  ? does  she  still  live  ? have 
you  any  news  of  her]  have  you  seen 
her  again  ?” 

“ She  lives,  and  I have  seen  her.” 

“ Ah!” 

“Yes;  the  man  who  saved  her  edu- 
cated her,  even  adopted  her,”  she  said, 
sarcastically.  “ Do  you  know  what 
this  wretch  would  do  with  the  daughter 


of  the  man  he  murdered,  whom  he 
flayed  alive  before  my  eyes?” 

“Speak,  in  Heaven’s  name  !” 

“ What  I have  to  say  is  very  dread- 
ful ! it  is  so  frightful,  indeed,  that  I 
hesitate  to  reveal  it  to  you.” 

“ Good  God  !”  the  Major  ejaculated, 
recoiling  involuntarily  before  his  sister’s 
flaming  glance. 

“Well;”  she  continued,  with  a stri- 
dent laugh,  “this  girl  has  grown  up, 
the  child  has  become  a woman,  as  love- 
ly as  it  is  possible  to  be.  This  man, 
this  monster,  this  demon,  has  felt  his 
tiger  heart  soften  at  the  sight  of  the 
angel ; he  loves  her  to  distraction,  he 
wishes  to  make  her  his  wife.” 

“ Horror !”  the  Major  exclaimed. 

“ Is  that  not  truly  hideous  ?”  she  con- 
tinued, still  with  that  nervous,  spasmo- 
dic laugh  which  it  pains  one  to  hear  : 
“ he  has  pardoned  his  victim’s  daughter. 
Yes,  he  is  generous,  he  forgets  the  atro- 
cious torture  he  inflicted  on  the  father, 
and  now  covets  the  daughter.” 

“ Oh,  that  is  frightful,  Margaret ; so 
much  infamy  and  cynicism  is  impossi- 
ble, even  among  Indians !” 

“ Do  you  believe,  then,  that  I am  de- 
ceiving you  ?” 

“ Far  from  me  be  such  a thought 
sister  ; the  man  is  a monster.” 

“ Yes,  yes,  so  he  is.” 

“ You  have  seen  your  daughter?  you 
have  talked  with  her  ?” 

“Yes  ; well,  what  then  ?” 

“ You  have,  doubtlessly,  turned  her 
from  this  monstrous  love  ?” 

“ I !”  she  replied,  with  a grin,  “ I did 
not  say  a wmrd  to  her  about  it.” 

“ What !”  he  said,  in  amazement. 

“ By  what  right  could  I have 
spoken  !” 

“ How,  by  what  right — Are  you  not 
her  mother  ?” 

“ She  does  not  know  it !” 

“ Oh  !” 

“ And  my  vengeance  ?”  she  said,  cold- 
ly. This  word,  which  so  thoroughly 
explained  the  character  of  the  woman, 
had  before  struck  the  heart  of  the  old 
soldier  with  terror. 

“ Unhappy  woman  !”  he  exclaimed. 

A smile  of  disdain  curled  the  She 
wolf’s  lip. 


114 


TIIE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


“ Yes,  so  you  are,”  she  said,  with  a 
bitter  voice,  “you  men  of  cities,  with 
natures  worn  out  by  civilization.  To 
understand  a passion,  it  must  be  kept 
within  certain  limits  traced  beforehand. 
The  grandeur  of  hatred,  with  all  its  fury 
and  excesses,  terrifies  you ; you  only 
admit  that  le^al  and  halting  vengeance 
which  the  criminal  code  sanctions. 
Brother,  he  who  wishes  the  end,  wishes 
the  means.  To  arrive  at  my  object, 
what  do  I care,  do  you  think,  whether  I 
walk  over  i uins  or  wade  through  blood  ? 
No,  I go  straight  before  me,  with  the 
impetuosity  of  the  torrent  that  breaks 
down  and  overthrows  all  the  obstacles 
which  rise  in  its  passage.  My  object 
is  vengeance,  blood  for  blood,  eye  for 
eye;  that  is  the  law  of  the  prairies.  I 
have  made  it  mine,  and  I will  obtain 

that  vengeance,  if  for  it  I . But,” 

she  added,  suddenly  breaking  off,  “what 
need  of  this  useless  discussion  between 
us,  brother;  reassure  yourself,  my 
daughter  has  been  better  warned  by  her 
instincts,  than  all  the  advice  I could  have 
given  her.  She  does  not  love  th  s man. 
I know  it,  she  told  me  so ; she  will 
never  love  him.” 

“ Heaven  be  praised  !”  the  Major  ex- 
claimed. 

“ I have  only  one  desire  ; only  one,” 
9he  continued,  with  a melancholy  air, 
“it  is  after  the  accomplishment  of  my 
vengeance,  to  recover  my  daughter,  press 
her  to  my  heart,  and  cover  her  with 
kisses,  while  at  length  revealing  to  her 
that  I am  her  mother.” 

The  Major  shook  his  head  sorrowfully. 

“ Take  care,  sister,”  he  said  in  a stern 
voice;  “God  has  said,  ‘ Vengeance  is 
mine!’  take  care,  lest,  after  assuming 
the  office  of  Providence,  you  may  be 
cruelly  chastened  by  it  in  some  of  your 
dearest  affections.” 

“ Oh,  say  not  so,  Henry !”  she  ex- 
claimed,with  signs  of  terror,  “you  would 
turn  me  mad.” 

The  Major  let  his  head  sink  on  his 
breast.  For  a little  while  brother  and 
sister  remained  opposite  each  other,  not 
uttering  a word  ; they  were  both  reflect- 
ing. The  She-wolf  was  the  first  to  re- 
new the  conversation. 

“ Now,  brother,”  she  said,  “ if  you 


! will  permit  me,  we  will  leave  this 
j mournful  subject  for  a moment,  and 
allude  to  what  concerns  you  more  par- 
ticularly, that  is  the  formidable  conspi- 
racy formed  against  you  by  the  Indians.” 
“ On  my  word,”  he  replied  with  a 
sigh  of  relief,  “ I confess,  sister,  that  I 
ask  nothing  better  ; my  head  is  confused, 
and  I believe  if  this  went  on  much  long 
er,  I should  be  unable  to  re-collect  my 
thoughts,  so  much  am  I affected  by  what 
you  have  told  me.” 

“ Thanks.” 

“Night  is  drawing  on,  Margaret,  in- 
deed it  has  almost  entirely  slipped  away, 
we  have  not  a moment  to  lose,  so  pray 
continue.” 

“ Is  the  garrison  complete  Vf 
“ Yes.” 

“ How  many  men  have  you  ?” 
“Seventy,  without  counting  some 
fifteen  hunters  and  trappers  occupied 
without,  but  whom  I will  recall  without 
delay.” 

“ Very  good  ; do  you  require  the 
whole  of  the  garrison  for  the  defence  of 
the  fort  ?” 

“ That  is  according.  Why  ?” 

“ Because  1 want  to  borrow  twenty 
men  of  you.” 

“ Hum,  for  what  object  V9 
“ You  shall  learn ; you  are  alone 
here,  without  any  hopes  of  help,  and 
for  this  reason : while  the  Indians  are 
burning  the  fort,  they  will  intercept 
your  communication  with  Fort  Clark, 
Fort  Union,  and  the  other  posts  scat- 
tered along  the  Missouri.” 

“ I fear  it,  but  what  can  I do  V1 
“ I will  tell  you  ; you  have  doubtless 
heard  of  an  American  squatter,  who  set- 
tled hardly  a week  back  about  three  or 
four  leagues  from  you  ?” 

“I  have;  a certain  John  Black,  I 
think.” 

“ That  is  the  man  ; well,  his  clearing 
will  naturally  serve  you  as  an  advanced 
post  V9 

“ Famously.” 

“ Profit  by  the  short  time  left  you; 
under  pretence  of  a buffalo  hunt,  send 
twenty  men  from  the  fort,  and  conceal 
them  at  John  Black’s,  so  that  when  the 
moment  for  action  arrives,  they-  may 
make  a demonstration  in  your  favor, 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


115 


which  will  place  the  enemies  between 
two  fires,  and  make  them  suppose  that 
reinforcements  have  reached  you  from 
other  posts.” 

“That  is  a good  idea,”  the  Major 
said. 

“ You  must  choose  men  on  whom  you 
can  count.” 

“ They  are  all  devoted  to  me ; you 
shall  see  them  at  work.” 

“ All  the  better ; then  that  is  settled !” 

“It  is.” 

“ Now  as  it  is  urgent  that  no  one 
should  know  of  our  relations,  as  it  might 
compromise  the  success  of  our  scheme, 
I must  ask  you  to  open  the  gates  of  the 
fort  for  me.” 

“ What,  so  soon,  in  this  frightful 
weather !” 

“ I must,  brother,  it  is  of  the  utmost 
importance,  that  I should  start  at  once.” 

“ You  insist  ?” 

“ I beg  it  of  you,  Harry,  for  our 
eommon  benefit.” 

“ Come,  then,  sister,  I will  detain  you 
no  longer.” 

Two  minutes  later,  in  spite  of  the 
storm  which  still  howled  with  the  same 
fury,  the  She-wolf  was  rowing  from  Fort 
Mackenzie  at  full  speed. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  CHASE. 

When  Natah  Otann  entered  the 
lodge  inhabited  by  the  white  men,  un- 
der pretext  of  warning  them  to  prepare 
for  the  chase,  his  searching  eye  in  a few 
seconds  had  explored  every  corner  of 
the  building.  The  Indi  in  chief  was  too 
clever  to  omit  noticing  the  Count’s  con- 
straint and  embarrassment ; but  he  un- 
derstood that  it  would  be  impolitic  to 
show  the  suspicions  he  had  conceived. 
Hence,  he  did  not  in  the  slightest  de- 
gree affect  to  notice  the  annoyance 
caused  by  his  presence,  and  continued 
the  conversation  with  that  politeness 
the  redskins  can  display,  when  they 
choose  to  take  the  trouble.  On  their 
side  the  Count  and  Brighteye  at  once 
regained  their  coolness. 


“ I did  not  hope  to  find  my  white 
brother  already  risen,”  Natah  Otann 
said,  with  a smile. 

“ Why  not"?”  the  young  man  replied, 
“ a desert  life  accustoms  one  to  little 
sleep.” 

“ Then  the  palefaces  will  go  and  hunt 
with  their  red  friends  ?” 

“ Certainly,  if  you  have  no  objec- 
tion.” 

“ Did  I not  myself  propose  to  Glass- 
eye  to  procure  them  a true  chase  ?” 

“ That  is  true  ;”  the  young  man  said, 
with  a laugh,  “ but  take  care,  chief,  I 
have  become  uncommonly  fastidious 
since  l have  been  in  the  prairie  ; there 
is  hardly  any  game  I have  not  hunted, 
as  it  was  the  love  of  sport  alone  that 
brought  me  into  these  unknown  coun- 
tries ; hence,  I repeat,  I shall  expect 
choice  game.” 

Natah  Otann  smiled  proudly. 

“ My  brother  will  be  satisfied,”  he 
said. 

“ And  what  is  the  animal  we  are 
about  to  follow  1”  the  young  man 
asked. 

“ The  ostrich.” 

The  Count  made  a sign  of  amaze 
ment. 

“ What,  the  ostrich  V ’ he  exclaimed, 
“ that  is  impossible,  chief ” 

“ Because  1” 

“ Oh,  simply  because  there  are 
none.” 

“ The  ostrich,  it  is  true,  is  disappear- 
ing ; it  fled  before  the  white  men,  and 
becomes  daily  rare,  but  it  is  still  nu- 
merous on  the  prairies ; in  a few  hours 
my  brother  will  have  a proof  of  it.” 

“ I desire  nothing  better.” 

“ Good,  that  is  settled  : I will  soon 
come  and  fetch  my  brother.” 

The  chief  bowed  courteously  and 
retired,  after  taking  a parting  look  a- 
round.  The  curtain  had  scarcely  fal- 
len behind  the  chief,  ere  the  piie  of 
furs  that  covered  the  young  girl  was 
thrown  off,  and  Prairie  Flower  ran  up 
to  the  Count. 

“ Listen  ;”  she  said  to  him,  seizing 
his  hand,  which  she  pressed  tenderly, 
“ I cannot  explain  to  you  now,  for  time 
fails  me ; still,  remember,  you  have  a 
friend  who  watches  over  you.” 


116 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


And  before  the  Count  could  reply,  or 
even  think  of  replying,  she  fled  with 
the  bound  of  an  antelope.  He  passed 
his  hand  several  times  over  his  brow, 
his  eye  being  fixed  on  the  place  where 
the  Indian  girl  had  disappeared. 

“ Ah !”  he  at  length  murmured, 
“ have  I at  last  met  with  a true 
woman  V’ 

“ She  is  an  angel,”  the  hunter  said, 
replying  to  his  thought.  “ Poor  child, 
she  has  suffered  greatly.” 

“ Yes ; but  I am  here  now,  and  will 
protect  her  1”  the  Count  exclaimed,  with 
exaltation. 

“ Let  us  think  of  ourselves  first,  Mr. 
Edward  ; and  try  to  get  away  from 
here  with  whole  skins  ; it  will  not  be 
an  easy  task,  I assure  you.” 

“ What  do  you  mean,  my  friend  V* 

“It  is  enough  that  I understand  it 
all,”  the  hunter  said,  shaking  his  head ; 
“ let  us  only  think  now  of  our  prepara- 
tions: our  friends,  the  redskins,  will 
soon  arrive,”  he  added,  with  that  deri- 
sive smile,  which  caused  the  Count  to 
feel  increased  embarrassment. 

But  the  impression  caused  by  the 
Canadian’s  ambiguous  language  was 
promptly  dissipated,  for  love  had  sud- 
denly nestled  in  this  young  man’s 
heart;  he  only  dreamed  of  one  thing, 
of  seeing  the  woman  again  whom  he 
adored  with  all  his  strength. 

In  a man  like  the  Count,  who  was 
gifted  with  a fiery  organization,  every 
feeling  must  necessarily  be  carried  to 
an  excess ; and  it  was  the  case  in  the 
present  instance.  Love  is  born  by  a 
word,  a sign,  a look,  and,  scarcely  born, 
suddenly  becomes  a giant.  The  Count 
was  fated  to  learn  this  at  his  own  ex- 
pense. 

Scarcely  half  an  hour  after  Natah 
Otann’s  departure,  the  gallop  of  several 
! horses  was  heard,  and  a troop  of  horse- 
men stopped  in  front  of  the  cabin. 
The  three  men  went  out,  and  found 
Natah  Otann  awaiting  them  at  the  head 
of  sixty  warriors,  all  dressed  in  their 
grand  costume,  and  armed  to  the  teeth. 

“ Let  us  go,”  he  said. 

“ Whenever  you  please,”  the  Count 
answered. 

The  chief  made  a signal,  and  three 


magnificent  horses,  superbly  capari- 
soned in  the  Indian  fashion,  were  led  up 
by  children.  The  whites  mounted,  and 
the  band  set  out  in  the  direction  of  the 
prairie. 

It  was  about  six  in  the  morning,  the 
night  storm  had  completely  swept  the 
sky,  which  was  of  a pale  blue  ; the  sun, 
fully  risen  in  the  horizon,  shot  forth  its 
warm  beams,  which  drew  out  the  sharp 
and  odoriferous  vapors  from  the  ground. 
The  atmosphere  was  wondrously  trans- 
parent, a slight  breeze  refreshed  the  air, 
and  flocks  of  birds,  lustrous  with  a 
thousand  hues,  flew  around,  uttering 
joyous  cries.  The  troop  marched  gaily 
through  the  tall  prairie  grass,  raising  a 
cloud  of  dust,  and  undulating  like  a 
long  serpent  in  the  endless  turnings  of 
the  road. 

The  spot  where  the  chase  was  to  come 
off  was  nearly  thirty  miles  distant  from 
the  village.  In  the  desert  all  places 
are  alike ; tall  grass,  in  the  midst  of 
which  the  horsemen  entirely  disappear: 
stunted  shrubs,  and  here  and  there 
clumps  of  trees,  whose  imposing  crowns 
rise  to  an  enormous  height ; — such  was 
the  road  the  Indians  had  to  follow  up 
to  the  spot  where  they  would  find  the 
animals  they  proposed  chasing. 

In  the  prairies  of  Arkansas  and  the 
Upper  Missouri,  at  the  time  of  our 
story,  ostriches  were  still  numerous, 
and  their  chase  one  of  the  numerous 
amusements  of  the  redskins  and  wood- 
rangers.  It  is  probable  that  the  succes- 
sive invasions  of  the  white  men,  and 
the  immense  clearings  effected  by  fire 
and  the  axe,  have  now  compelled  them 
to  abandon  this  territory,  and  retire  to 
the  inaccessible  desert  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  or  the  sands  of  the  tar 
west. 

We  will  say  here,  without  any  pre- 
tence at  a scientific  description,  a few 
words  about  this  singular  animal,  still 
but  little  known  in  Europe.  The  os- 
trich generally  lives  in  small  families 
of  from  eight  to  ten,  scattered  along 
the  banks  of  marshes,  pools,  and 
streams.  They  live  on  fresh  grass. 
Faithful  to  their  native  soil,  they  never 
quit  the  vicinity  of  the  water,  and  in 
t.ie  month  of  November  lay  their  eggs 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


117 


in  the  wildest  part  of  the  plain,  fifty  to 
sixty  at  a time,  which  are  brooded, 
solely  at  night,  by  male  and  female  in 
turn,  with  a touching  tenderness. 
When  the  incubation  is  terminated,  the 
ostrich  breaks  the  barren  eggs  with  his 
beak,  which  are  at  once  covered  with 
flies  and  insects,  supplying  nourishment 
^to  the  young  birds.  The  ostrich  of  the 
western  prairies  differs  slightly  from  the 
Nandus  of  the  Patagonian  prairies  and 
the  African  species.  It  is  about  five 
feet  high,  and  four  and  a half  long,  from 
the  stomach  to  the  end  of  the  tail;  its 
beak  is  very  pointed,  and  measures  a 
little  over  five  inches. 

A characteristic  trait  of  the  ostrich  is 
their  extreme  curiosity.  In  the  Indian 
villages,  where  they  live  in  a tamed 
state,  it  is  of  frequent  occurrence  to  see 
them  stalking  through  groups  of  talk- 
ers and  regarding  them  with  fixed  at- 
tention. In  the  plain  this  curiosity  is 
often  fatal  to  them,  for  it  leads  them  to 
look  unhesitatingly  at  everything  that 
seems  strange  or  unusual  to  them.  We 
will  give  a capital  Indian  story  here  in 
proof  of  this. 

The  jaguars  are  very  fond  of  ostrich 
meat,  but  unfortunately,  though  their 
speed  is  so  great,  it  is  almost  impossi- 
ble for  them  to  run  the  birds  down  ; 
but  the  jaguars  are  cunning  animals, 
and  usually  obtain  by  craft  what  they 
cannot  manage  by  force.  They,  there- 
fore, employ  the  following  stratagem  : 
They  lie  on  the  ground  as  if  dead,  and 
raise  their  tails  in  the  air,  where  they 
wave  them  in  every  direction ; the  os- 
triches, attracted  by  this  strange  spec- 
tacle, approach  with  great  simplicity — 
the  rest  may  be  guessed  ; they  fall  a 
prey  to  the  cunning  jaguars. 

The  hunters,  after  a hurried  march  of 
three  hours,  reached  a barren  and  sandy 
^ plain  ; during  the  journey,  very  few 
words  were  exchanged  between  Natah 
Otann  and  his  white  gue-Ls,  for  he  rode 
at  the  head  of  the  column,  conversing 
in  a low  voice  with  White  Buffalo. 

The  Indians  dismounted  by  the  side 
of  a stream,  and  exchanged  their  horses 
for  racers,  which  the  chief  had  sent  to 
the  spot  during  the  night,  and  which 
were  naturally  rested  and  able  to  run 
for  miles. 


Natah  Otann  divided  the  hunting  par- 
ty into  tw’o  equal  troops,  keeping  the 
command  of  the  first  himself,  and  cour- 
teously offering  that  of  the  second  to 
the  Count.  As  the  Frenchman,  how- 
ever, had  never  been  present  at  such  a 
chase,  and  was  quite  ignorant  how  it 
was  conducted,  he  courteously  declined. 

Natah  Otann  reflected  for  a few  mo- 
ments, and  then  turned  to  Brighteye  : 

“ My  brother  knows  the  ostriches?” 
he  asked  him. 

“ Eh  ?”  the  Canadian  replied  with  a 
smile  ; “ Natah  Otann  was  not  yet  born 
when  I hunted  them  on  the  prairie.” 

“ Good the  chief  said  ; “ then  my 
brother  will  command  the  second 
band  ?” 

“ Be  it  so  the  hunter  said,  bowing, 
“I  accept  with  pleasure.” 

On  a given  signal,  the  first  band,  un- 
der Natah  Otann’s  command,  advanced 
into  the  plain,  describing  a semicircle, 
so  as  to  drive  the  game  towards  a ra- 
vine situated  between  two  moving 
downs. 

The  second  band,  with  which  the 
Count  and  Ivon  remained,  was  echelon- 
ned  so  as  to  form  the  other  half  of  the 
circle,  which  by  the  horsemen’s  advance, 
was  gradually  being  contracted,  when  a 
dozen  ostriches  showed  themselves;  but 
the  male  bird  standing  sentry,  warned 
the  family  of  the  danger  by  a sharp 
cry  like  a boatswain’s  whistle.  At 
once  the  ostriches  fled  in  a straight  line 
rapidly,  and  without  looking  back.  All 
the  hunters  galloped  off  in  pursuit. 

The  plain,  till  then  silent  and  gloomy, 
grew  animated,  and  offered  the  stran- 
gest appearance.  The  horsemen  pursued 
the  luckless  animals  at  full  speed,  rais- 
ing in  their  passage  clouds  of  impalpa- 
ble dust.  Twelve  to  fifteen  paces  be- 
hind the  game,  the  Indians  still  gallop- 
ing and  burying  their  spurs  in  the  flanks 
of  their  panting  horses,  bent  forward, 
twisted  their  formidable  clubs  round 
their  heads,  and  hurled  them  after  the 
animals.  If  they  missed  their  aim,  they 
stooped  down  without  checking  their 
pace,  and  picked  up  the  weapon,  which 
they  cast  again. 

Several  flocks  of  ostriches  had  been 
put  up,  and  the  chase  then  assumed  the 
proportions  of  a mad  revel.  Cries  and 


118 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


hurrahs  rent  the  air;  the  clubs  hurtled 
through  the  space  and  struck  the  necks, 
wings  and  legs  of  the  ostriches,  which, 
startled  and  mad  with  terror,  made  a 
thousand  feints  and  zigzags  to  escape 
their  implacable  enemies,  and  buffeting 
their  wings,  tried  to  prick  the  horses 
with  a species  of  spike,  with  which  the 
end  of  their  wings  is  armed.  Several 
horses  reared,  and  embarrassed  with 
the  ostriches  between  their  legs,  fell 
with  their  riders.  The  ostriches,  pro- 
fiting by  the  disorder,  fled  on,  and  came 
within  reach  of  the  other  hunters,  who 
received  them  with  a shower  of  clubs. 

Each  hunter  leaped  from  his  horse, 
killed  the  victim  he  had  felled,  cut  off 
its  wings  as  a sign  of  triumph,  and  re- 
newed the  chase  with  increased  ardor. 
Ostriches  and  hunters  rushed  onwards 
like  the  cordonazo,  that  terrible  wind  of 
the  Mexican  deserts,  and  forty  ostriches 
speedily  encumbered  the  plain. 

Natah  Otann  looked  round  him,  and 
then  gave  the  signal  for  retreat ; the 
birds,  which  had  not  succumbed  to  this 
rude  aggression,  ran  off  to  seek  shelter. 
The  dead  birds  were  carefully  collected, 
for  the  ostrich  is  excellent  eating,  and 
the  Indians  prepare,  chiefly  from  the 
meat  on  the  breast,  a dish  renowned  for 
its  delicacy  and  exquisite  savor.  The 
warriors  then  proceeded  to  collect  eggs, 
also  highly  esteemed,  and  secured  an 
ample  crop. 

Although  the  chase  had  scarce  lasted 
two  hours,  the  horses  panted  and  wanted 
rest  before  they  could  return  to  the 
village ; hence  Natah  Otann  gave  orders 
to  stop.  The  Count  had  never  been 
present  at  so  strange  a hunt  before,  al- 
though ever  since  he  had  been  on  the 
prairie,  he  had  pursued  the  different 
animals  that  inhabit  it;  hence  he  en- 
tered into  it  with  all  the  excitement  of 
youth,  rushing  on  the  ostriches  and  fell- 
ing them  with  childlike  pleasure.  When 
the  signal  for  retreat  was  given  by  the 
chief,  he  reluctantly  left  off  the  amuse- 
ment, which  at  the  moment  caused  him 
such  delight,  and  returned  slowly  to  his 
comrades.  Suddenly,  a loud  cry  was 
raised  by  the  Indians,  and  each  ran  to 
his  weapons. 

The  Count  looked  around  him  with 
surprise,  and  felt  a slight  tremor.  The 


ostrich  hunt  was  over;  but,  as  fre- 
quently happens  in  these  countries,  a far 
more  terrible  one  was  about  to  begin — 
the  chase  of  the  cougar. 

Two  of  these  animals  had  suddenly 
made  their  appearance. 

The  Count  recovered  at  once  and 
cocking  his  rifle,  prepared  to  follow  this 
new  species  of  game. 

Natah  Otann  had  also  noticed  the  l 
wild  beasts ; he  ordered  a dozen  war- 
riors to  surround  Prairie  Flower,  whom 
he  had  obliged  to  accompany  him,  or 
who  had  insisted  on  being  present ; 
then,  certain  that  the  girl  was,  tempora- 
rily at  least,  in  safety,  he  turned  to  a 
warrior  standing  at  his  side. 

“ Uncouple  the  dogs,”  he  said. 

A dozen  mastiffs  were  let  loose, 
which  howled  in  chorus,  on  seeing  the 
wild  beasts. 

The  Indians,  accustomed  to  see  the 
ostrich  hunt  disturbed  in  this  wav,  never 
fail,  when  they  go  out  for  their  favorite 
exercise,  to  take  with  them  dogs  trained 
to  attack  the  lion.  About  two  hundred 
yards  from  the  spots  where  the  Indians 
had  halted,  two  cougars  were  now 
crouching,  with  their  eyes  fixed  on  the 
redskin  warriors.  These  animals,  still 
young,  were  about  the  size  of  a calf ; 
their  heads  bore  a strong  likeness  to  a 
cat’s,  and  their  soft,  smooth  hide  of  sil- 
very yellow  was  dotted  with  black 
spots. 

“After  them  !”  Natah  Otann  shouted. 

Horsemen  and  dogs  rushed  on  the 
ferocious  beasts  with  yells,  cries,  and 
barks,  capable  of  terrifying  lions  unused 
to  such  a reception. 

The  noble  animals,  motionless  and 
amazed,  lashed  their  flanks  with  their 
long  tails,  and  drew  in  heavy  draughts 
of  air;  for  a moment  they  remained 
stationary,  then  suddenly  bounded 
away.  A party  of  hunters  galloped  in 
a straight  line  to  intercept  their  retreat, 
while  the  others  bent  over  their  saddles, 
and  guiding  their  horses  with  their 
knees,  fired  their  arrows  and  rifles,  with 
out  checking  the  cougars,  which  turned 
furiously  on  the  dogs,  and  hurled  them 
ten  yards  from  them,  to  howl  with  pi  in. 
Still  the  mastiffs,  long  habituated  to  this 
chase,  watched  for  a favorable  moment, 

I leaped  on  the  lions’  backs,  and  dug  their 


TIIE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


119 


nails  in  their  flesh  ; but  the  latter,  with 
one  stroke  of  their  deadly  claws,  swept 
them  off  like  flies,  and  continued  their 
flight. 

One  of  them,  pierced  by  several  ar- 
rows, and  surrounded  by  the  dogs, 
rolled  on  the  ground,  raising  a cloud  of 
dust  under  its  claws,  and  uttering  a 
* fearful  yell.  This  one  the  Canadian 
finished  by  putting  a bullet  through  its 
eye,  but  the  second  lion  remained,  still 
unwounded,  and  its  leaps  foiled  the  at- 
tack and  skill  of  the  hunters.  The  dogs, 
now  wearied,  did  not  dare  assail  it.  Its 
flight  had  led  it  a few  paces  from  the 
spot  where  Prairie  Flower  stood;  it 
suddenly  turned  at  right  angles,  bounded 
among  the  Indians,  two  of  whom  it  rip- 
ped up,  and  crouched  before  the  young 
girl,  ere  making  its  leap. 

Prairie  Flower,  pale  as  a corpse, 
clasped  her  hands  instinctively,  uttered 
a stifled  cry,  and  fainted. 

New  cries  replied  to  hers,  and  at  the 
momeut  the  lion  was  about  to  leap  on 
the  maiden,  two  bullets  were  buried  in 
its  chest.  It  turned  to  face  its  new  ad- 
versary; it  was  the  Count  de  Beaulieu. 

Ci  Let  no  one  stir !”  he  exclaimed, 
stopping  by  a sign  Natah  Otann  and 
Brighteye,  who  ran  up  ; “ this  game  is 
mine,  no  other  than  1 shall  kill  it.” 

The  Count  had  dismounted,  and  with 
his  feet  firmly  planted,  his  rifle  at  his 
shoulder,  and  eyes  fixed  on  the  lion,  he 
waited.  The  lion  hesitated,  cast  a final 
glance  at  the  prey  lying  a few  paces 
from  it,  and  then  rushed  on  the  young 
man  with  a roar.  He  fired  again  : the 
animal  bit  the  dust,  and  the  Count, 
hunting-knife  in  hand,  ran  up  to  it.  The 
man  and  the  lion  rolled  together  on  the 
ground,  but  soon  one  of  the  combatants 
rose  again  ; it  was  the  man. 

Prairie  Flower  was  saved.  The  maid- 
en opened  her  eyes  again,  looked  timid- 
ly round  her,  and  holding  out  her  hand 
to  the  Frenchman  : 

“ Thanks  !”  she  exclaimed,  and  burst 
into  tears.  Natah  Otann  walked  to  her. 

“ Silence  !”  he  said,  harshly,  “ what 
the  paleface  has  done,  Natah  Otann 
could  have  achieved.” 

The  Count  smiled  contemptuously, 
but  made  no  reply,  for  he  had  recogni- 
zed a rival. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

INDIAN  DIPLOMACY. 

Natah  Otann  feigned  not  to  have 
perceived  the  Count’s  smile. 

“ Now  that  you  have  recovered,”  he 
said  to  Prairie  Flower,  in  a gentler 
tone  than  he  at  first  assumed  towards 
her,  “ mount  your  horse  and  return  to 
the  village.  Red  Wolf  will  accompany 
you  : perhaps,”  he  added,  with  an  Indi- 
an smile,  “ we  may  again  come  across 
cougars,  and  you  are  so  frightened  at 
them,  that  I believe  I am  doing  you  a 
service  in  begging  you  to  withdraw.” 

The  young  girl,  still  trembling,  bow- 
ed and. mounted  her  horse.  Red  Wolf 
had  involuntarily  made  a start  of  joy 
on  hearing  the  order  the  chief  gave  him, 
but  the  latter,  occupied  with  his 
thoughts,  had  not  surprised  it. 

“ One  moment,”  Natah  Otann  went 
on,  “ if  living  lions  frighten  you,  l 
know  that  in  return  you  greatly  value 
their  furs  ; allow  me  to  offer  you  these.” 

No  pne  can  equal  the  skill  of  Indians 
in  flaying  animals  ; in  an  instant  the 
two  lions,  over  which  the  vultures  were 
already  hovering  and  forming  wide  cir- 
cles, were  stripped  of  their  rich  hides, 
which  were  thrown  across  Red  Wolf’s 
horse.  That  animal,  terrified  by  the 
smell  that  emanated  from  the  skins, 
reared  furiously,  and  almost  unsaddled 
its  rider,  who  had  great  difficulty  in  re- 
straining it. 

“ Now  go,”  the  chief  said,  drily,  dis- 
missing them  with  a haughty  gesture. 

Prairie  Flower  and  Red  Wolf  depart- 
ed at  a gallop  ; Natah  Otann  watched 
them  for  a long  time,  then  let  his  head 
fall  on  his  breast,  as  he  uttered  a deep 
sigh,  and  appeared  plunged  in  gloomy 
thought.  A moment  later,  he  felt  a 
hand  pressing  heavily  on  his  chest  ; he 
raised  his  head — White  Buffalo  was  be- 
fore him. 

“ What  do  you  want  with  me  ?”  he 
asked  angrily. 

“ Do  you  not  know  ]”  the  old  man 
said,  looking  at  him  fixedly. 

Natah  Otann  quivered. 

“ It  is  true,”  he  said,  “ the  hour  has 
arrived,  you  mean  ?” 

“ Yes.” 


120 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


“ Are  all  precautions  taken  ?” 

“All.” 

“ Come  on,  then  ; but  where  are 
they  r 

“ Look  at  them.’’ 

While  uttering  these  words,  White 
Buffalo  pointed  to  the  Count  and  his 
comrades  lying  on  the  grass,  at  the  skirt 
of  a wood,  about  two  hundred  yards 
from  the  Indian  encampment. 

“ Ah,  they  keep  aloof,”  the  chief  ob- 
served bitterly. 

“ Is  not  that  better  for  the  conversa- 
tion which  we  wish  to  have  with  them?” 
“ You  are  right.” 

The  two  men  then  walked  up  to  the 
hunters  without  speaking  again. 

The  latter  had  really  kept  away,  not 
through  contempt  for  the  Indians,  but 
in  order  to  be  more  at  liberty.  What 
had  occurred  after  the  death  of  the  cou- 
gars, the  brutal  way  in  which  the  chief 
spoke  to  Prairie  Flower,  had  vexed  the 
Count,  and  it  needed  all  the  power  he 
possessed  over  himself,  and  the  entrea- 
ties of  Brighteye,  to  prevent  him  break- 
ing out  in  reproaches  of  the  chief,  whose 
conduct  appeared  to  him  unjustifiably 
coarse. 

“ Hum  !”  he  said,  “ this  man  is  deci- 
dedly a ruffian  : I am  beginning  to  be 
of  your  opinion,  Brighteye.” 

“ Bah  ? that  is  nothing  yet,”  the  lat- 
ter replied,  with  a shrug  of  his  shoul- 
ders, “ we  shall  see  plenty  more,  if  we 
only  remain  a week  with  these  demons.” 
While  speaking,  the  Canadian  had  re- 
loaded his  rifle  and  pistols. 

“ Do  as  I do,”  he  continued,  “ No 
one  knows  what  may  happen.” 

“ What  need  of  that  precaution,  are 
we  not  under  the  protection  of  the  In- 
dians, whose  guests  we  are  ?” 

“ Possibly  ; but  no  matter,  you  had 
better  follow  my  advice,  for  with  Indi- 
ans you  can  never  answer  for  the  fu- 
ture.” 

“ There  is  considerable  truth  in  what 
you  say  ; what  I have  just  seen  does 
not  at  all  inspire  me  with  confidence.” 
The  Count,  therefore,  began  reloading 
his  weapons  ; as  for  Ivon,  he  had  not 
used  his. 

The  two  Indian  chiefs  came  up  at  the 
moment  when  the  Count  finished  load- 
ing the  last  pistol. 


“ Oh,  ‘ oh,”  Natah  Otann  said  in 
French,  bowing  with  studied  politeness, 

“ have  you  scented  any  wild  beast  in 
the  neighborhood  ?” 

“ Perhaps  so,”  the  latter  replied,  as 
he  returned  his  pistols  to  his  belt. 

“ What  do  you  mean,  Sir  ?” 

“ Nothing  but  what  1 say.” 

“ Unfortunately  for  me,  doubtlessly, 
that  is  so  subtile,  that  I do  not  under-  *. 
stand  it.” 

“ I am  sorry  for  it,  Sir  ; but  I can 
only  reply  to  you  by  an  old  Latin  pro- 
verb.” 

“ Which  is?” 

“ What  need  to  repeat  it,  as  you  do 
not  understand  Latin.” 

“ Suppose  I do  understand  it  ?” 
“Well,  then,  as  you  insist  upon  it, 
here  it  is  : si  vis  pacem  para  helium, .” 

“ Which  means  ?”  the  chief  said,  im- 
pertinently, while  White  Buffalo  bit  his 
lips. 

“ Which  means ” the  Count  said. 

“If  you  wish  for  peace,  prepare  for 
war,”  White  Buffalo  hurriedly  interrup- 
ted. 

“It  was  you  who  said  it,”  the  Count 
remarked,  bowing  with  a mocking 
smile. 

The  three  men  stood  face  to  face,  like 
skilful  duellists,  who  feel  the  adversa- 
ry’s sword  before  engaging,  and  who, 
having  recognised  themselves  to  be  of 
equal  strength,  redouble  their  prudence, 
before  dealing  a decisive  thrust. 

Brighteye,  though  not  understanding 
much  of  this  skirmish  of  words,  had 
still,  through  the  distrust  which  was  the 
baffs  of  his  character,  given  Ivon  a side 
glance,  and  both,  though  apparently  in- 
attentive, were  ready  for  any  event. 
After  the  Count’s  last  remark  there  was 
a lengthened  silence,  which  Natah  Otann 
was  the  first  to  break. 

“You  believe  yourself  to  be  among 
enemies,  then  ?”  he  asked,  in  a tone  of 
wounded  pride. 

“ I did  not  say  so,”  he  replied,  “ and 
such  is  not  my  thought;  still  I confess 
that  all  I have  seen  during  the  last  few 
days  is  so  strange  to  me,  that  in  spite 
of  all  my  attempts,  I can  form  no  settled 
opinion,  either  about  men  or  things,  and 
that  causes  me  deep  reflection.” 

“ Ah  !”  the  Indian  said  coldly,  “ and 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


121 


what  is  it  so  strange  you  see  around 
you?  would  you  be  kind  enough  to  in- 
form me  V ’ 

“ I see  no  harm  in  doing  so,  if  you 
wish  it.” 

“ You  will  cause  me  intense  pleasure 
by  explaining  yourself.” 

“ I am  quite  ready  to  do  so  ; the 
more  so  as  1 have  ever  been  accustomed 
to  express  my  thoughts  freely,  and  I see 
no  reason  for  disguising  them  to-day.” 

The  two  Chiefs  bowed  and  said  no- 
thing; the  Count  rested  his  hands  on 
the  muzzle  of  his  gun,  and  continued, 
while  regarding  them  fixedly. 

“ My  faith,  gentlemen,  since  you  wish 
me  to  unveil  my  thoughts,  you  shall 
have  them  in  their  entirety  : we  are 
here  in  the  wilds  of  the  American  prai- 
ries, that  is  in  the  wildest  countries  of 
the  new  continent ; you  are  always  on 
hostile  terms  with  the  whites ; you 
Blackfeet  are  regarded  as  the  most  un- 
tamable, savage,  and  ferocious  of  the 
Indians  ; or,  in  other  words,  the  most 
devoid  of  civilization  of  all  the  abo- 
riginal nations.” 

“Well;”  Natah  Otann  remarked, 
“ what  do  you  find  strange  in  that  ? is 
it  our  fault  if  our  despoilers,  since  the 
discovery  of  the  new  world,  have  tracked 
us  like  wild  beasts,  driven  us  back  in 
the  desert,  and  regarded  us  as  beings 
scarcely  endowed  with  the  instinct  of 
the  brute  ? you  must  blame  them,  and 
not  us.  By  what  right  do  you  reproach 
us  with  a brutalization  and  barbarism, 
produced  by  our  persecutors  and  not  by 
ourselves  ?” 

“ You  have  not  understood  me,  Sir  : 
if,  instead  of  interrupting  me,  you  had 
listened  patiently  a few  minutes  longer, 
you  would  have  seen  that  I not  merely 
do  not  reproach  you  for  that  brutaliza- 
tion, but  pity  it  in  my  heart ; for  al- 
though I have  been  only  a few  months 
in  the  desert,  I have  been  on  several 
occasions  in  a position  to  judge  the  un- 
happy race  to  which  you  belong,  and 
appreciate  the  good  qualities  it  still 
possesses,  and  which  the  odious  tyranny 
of  the  whites  has  not  succeded  in  eradi- 
cating, despite  of  all  the  means  employ- 
ed to  attain  that  end.” 

The  two  Chiefs  exchanged  a glance  of 


satisfaction ; the  generous  words  uttered 
by  the  young  man  gave  them  hopes  as 
to  the  success  of  their  negotiation. 

“ Pardon  me,  and  pray  continue,” 
Natah  Otann  said  with  a bow. 

“ I will  do  so ;”  the  Count  went  on, 
“ I repeat  it,  it  was  not  that  barbarism, 
which  astonishes  me,  for  1 supposed  it 
to  be  greater  than  it  really  is : what 
seemed  strange  to  me  was  to  find  in  the 
heart  of  the  desert,  where  we  now  are, 
amid  the  ferocious  Indians  who  sur- 
round us,  two  men,  two  Chiefs  of  this 
selfsame  Indians,  1 will  not  say  civil- 
ized, for  the  word  is  not  strong  enough 
— but  utterly  conversant  with  all  the 
secrets  of  the  most  advauced  and  refined 
civilization,  speaking  my  maternal  lan- 
guage with  the  most  extreme  purity, and 
seeming  in  a word,  to  have  nothing 
Indian  about  them,  save  the  dress  they 
wear.  It  seemed  strange  to  me  that 
two  men,  for  an  object  1 know  not, 
changing  in  turn  their  manners  and 
fashions,  are  at  one  moment  savage  In- 
dians, at  another  perfect  gentlemen ; 
but  instead  of  trying  to  raise  their 
country -men  from  the  barbarism  in 
which  they  pine,  they  wallow  in  it  with 
them,  feigning  to  be  as  ignorant  aud 
cruel  as  themselves.  I confess  to  you, 
gentlemen,  that  all  this  not  only  ap- 
peared strange  to  me,  but  even  frighten- 
ed me.” 

“ Frightened  !”  the  two  chiefs  ex- 
claimed simultaneously. 

“ Yes,  frightened  !”  the  Count  contin- 
ued quickly,  “ for  a life  of  continual 
feints,  such  as  you  lead  must  conceal 
some  dark  plot.  Lastly,  I am  frighten- 
ed, because  your  conduct  towards  me, 
the  urgency  with  which  you  sought  to 
attract  me  amongst  you,  causes  invol- 
untary suspicions  to  spring  up  in  my 
heart,  as  to  your  secret  intentions.” 

“ And  what  are  those  suspicions,  sir  ?” 
Natah  Otann  asked,  haughtily. 

“ I am  afraid  that  you  wish  to  make 
me  your  accomplice  in  some  scandalous 
deed.” 

These  words  pronounced  vehemently, 
burst  like  a thunderbolt  on  the  ears  of 
the  two  strange  chiefs,  they  were  terri- 
fied by  the  perspicuity  of  the  young 
man,  and  for  several  moments  knew  not 


122 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


what  to  say,  to  disculpate  themselves. 

“ Sir  !”  Natah  Otann  at  length  ex- 
claimed, violently. 

White  Buffalo  checked  him  by  a ma- 
jestic gesture. 

“ It  is  my  duty,”  he  said,  “ to  reply 
to  our  guest’s  words  ; in  his  turn,  after 
the  frank  and  loyal  explanation  he  has 
given  us,  he  has  a right  to  one  equally 
frank  on  our  side.” 

“ I am  listening  to  you,”  the  young 
man  said  coolly. 

“ Of  the  two  men  now  standing  before 
you,  one  is  your  fellow  countryman.” 

“ Ah  !”  the  count  muttered. 

“ That  countryman  is  myself.” 

The  young  man  bowed  coldly. 

“ I suspected  it,”  he  said,  “ and  it  is 
a further  reason  to  heighten  my  suspi- 
cions.” 

Natah  Otann  made  a gesture. 

“ Let  him  speak,”  White  Buffalo  said, 
holding  him  back. 

“ What  I have  to  say  will  not  be  long, 
sir ; it  is  my  opinion  that  the  man  who 
consents  to  exchange  the  blessings  of 
European  civilization  for  a precarious 
life  on  the  prairie  ; who  breaks  all  the 
ties  of  family  and  friendship,  which  at- 
taches him  to  his  country,  in  order  to 
adopt  an  Indian  life — in  my  opinion 
that  man  must  have  many  disgraceful 
actions  to  reproach  himself  with,  and  his 
remorse  forces  him  to  offer  society  ex- 
piation for  them.” 

The  old  man’s  brow  contracted,  and 
a livid  pallor  covered  his  face. 

“ You  are  very  young,  sir,”  he  said, 
" to  have  the  right  to  bring  such  accusa- 
tions against  an  old  man,  whose  actions, 
life,  and  even  name  are  unknown  to 
you.” 

“ That  is  true,  sir,”  the  Count  an- 
swered nobly.  “ Pardon  any  insult  my 
words  may  have  conveyed.” 

“ Why  should  I be  angry  with  you,” 
he  continued,  in  a sad  voice;  “a  child 
born  yesterday,  whose  eyes  opened  amid 
songs  and  fetes,  whose  life,  which  counts 
but  a few  days,  has  been  spent  gently 
and  calmly  in  the  peace  and  prosperity 
of  that  beloved  France,  which  I weep 
for  every  day.” 

“ Who  are  you,  sir?”  he  asked. 

“ Who  am  I ?”  the  old  man  said,  bit- 


terly, “ I am  one  of  those  crushed  Titans 
who  sat  in  the  Convention  of  1793 !” 
The  Count  fell  back  a pace,  letting 
fall  the  hand  he  had  taken. 

“ Oh  !”  he  said. 

The  exile  looked  at  him  searchingly. 

“ Enough  of  this,”  he  said,  raising  his 
head,  and  assuming  a firm  and  resolute 
tone ; “ you  are  in  our  hands,  sir,  any 
resistance  will  be  useless ; so  listen  to 
our  propositions.” 

The  Count  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
“You  throw  off  the  mask,”  he  said, 
“ and  I prefer  that ; but  allow  me  one 
remark  before  listening  to  you.” 

“ What  is  it?” 

“ I am  of  noble  birth,  as  you  are 
aware,  and  hence  we  are  old  enemies ; 
on  whatever  ground  we  may  meet,  we 
can  only  stand  face  to  face,  never  side 
by  side.” 

“ They  are  ever  the  same,”  the  other 
muttered ; “ this  haughty  race  may  be 
broken,  but  not  bent.” 

The  Count  bowed,  and  folded  his 
arms  on  his  breast. 

“ I am  waiting,”  he  said. 

“ Time  presses,”  the  exile  continued, 
“ any  discussion  between  us  would  be 
superfluous,  as  we  cannot  agree.” 

“ At  least,  that  is  clear,”  the  Count 
remarked,  with  a smile,  “ now  for  the 
rest.” 

“ It  is  this : in  two  days,  all  the  In- 
dian nations  will  rise  as  one  man  to 
crush  the  American  tyranny.” 

“ What  do  I care  for  that?  Have  I 
come  so  far  to  dabble  in  politics  ?” 

The  exile  repressed  a movement  of 
anger. 

“ Unfortunately,  your  will  is  not  free  ; 
you  are  here  to  obey  our  conditions, 
and  not  to  impose  your  own  ; you  must 
accept  or  die.” 

“ Oh,  oh,  always  your  old  means,  as 
it  seems,  but  I will  be  patient : come, 
what  is  it  you  expect  from  me  ?” 

“ We  demand,”  he  went  on,  laying  a 
stress  on  every  word,  “ that  you  should 
take  the  command  of  all  the  warriors, 
and  direct  the  expedition  in  person.” 

“ Why  I,  rather  than  any  one  else?” 
“ Because  you  alone  can  play  the  part 
we  give  you.” 

“ Nonsense  ; you  are  mad.” 


THE  FLOWER,  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


123 


“You  must  be  so,  if,  since  your  stay 
among  the  Indians,  you  have  not  seen 
that  you  would  have  been  killed  long 
ago,  had  we  not  been  careful  to  spread 
reports  about  you,  which  gained  you 
general  respect,  in  spite  of  your  rash- 
ness and  blind  confidence  in  yourself.” 
“ Eh,  then,  this  has  been  prepared 
a long  time  V ’ 

“ For  centuries.” 

“ Hang  it !”  the  Count  went  on,  still 
sarcastically,  “ what  have  I to  do  in  all 
this?” 

“ Oh,  sir,  not  much,”  the  White  Buf- 
falo answered,  with  a sneer,  “ and  any 
one  else  would  have  suited  us  just  as 
well ; unfortunately  for  you,  you  have 
an  extraordinary  likeness  to  the  man 
w ho  can  alone  march  at  our  head  ; and 
as  this  man  died  long  ago,  it  is  not  pro- 
bable that  he  will  come  from  his  grave 
expressly  to  guide  us  to  battle ; hence 
you  must  take  his  place.” 

“Very  well;  and  would  there  be 
any  indiscretion  in  asking  you  the  name 
of  the  man  to  whom  I bear  so  wonder- 
ful a likeness  ?” 

“ Not  the  slightest,”  the  old  man  re- 
plied, coldly  ; “ The  more  so,  because 
you  have  doubtlessly  already  heard  his 
name  ; it  is  Moctecuzoma.” 

The  Count  burst  into  a laugh. 

“ Come !”  he  said,  “ it  is  a capital 
joke  ; but  I find  it  a little  too  long.  Now 
a word  in  my  turn.” 

“ Speak.” 

“ YVhatever  you  may  do,  whatever 
means  you  may  employ,  I will  never 
consent  to  serve  you  in  any  way.  Now, 
as  I am  your  guest,  placed  under  the 
guarantee  of  your  honor,  I request  you 
to  let  me  pass.” 

“ That  resolution  is  decided  ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ You  will  not  change  it  ?” 

“ Whatever  happens.” 

“We  shall  see  that,”  the  old  man  re- 
marked, coldly. 

The  Count  looked  at  him  contemptu- 
ously. 


“ Make  way  there,”  he  said,  resolute- 
ly* 

The  two  chiefs  shrugged  their  shoul- 
ders. 

“We  are  savages,”  Natah  Otann 
said  jibingly. 

“ Make  way  ?”  the  count  repeated,  as 
he  cocked  his  rifle. 

Natah  Otann  whistled  ; in  an  instant 
some  fifteen  Indians  rushed  from  the 
wood,  and  fell  on  the  white  men,  who, 
however,  though  surprised,  endured  the 
shock  bravely.  Standing  instinctively 
back  to  back,  with  shoulder  supported 
against  shoulder,  they  suddenly  formed 
a tremendous  triangle,  before  which 
the  redskins  were  constrained  to  halt. 

“ Oh,  oh  !”  Brighteye  said,  “ I fancy 
we  are  going  to  have  some  fun.” 

“ Yes,”  Ivon  muttered,  crossing  him- 
self piously  ; “ but  we  shall  be  killed.” 

“ Probably,”  the  Canadian  said. 

“ Fall  back  !”  the  Count  ordered. 

The  three  men  then  began  to  retire 
slowly  toward  the  wood,  the  only  shel- 
ter that  offered,  without  separating,  and 
still  pointing  their  rifles  at  the  Indians. 
The  redskins  are  brave,  even  rash  ; that 
question  cannot  be  disguised  or  doubted; 
but  with  them  courage  is  calculated  ; 
they  never  fight  save  to  gain  an  object, 
and  are  not  fond  of  risking  their  lives 
unprofitably.  They  hesitated. 

“ I fancy  we  did  well  to  reload  our 
arms,”  the  Count  said,  ironically  but 
with  perfect  calmness. 

“By  Jove!”  Brighteye  said,  with  a 
grin. 

“ No  matter,  I am  very  frightened,” 
Ivon  groaned,  his  eyes  sparkling  and 
his  lips  quivering. 

“ Eha,  sons  of  blood  !”  Natah  Otann 
shouted,  as  he  cocked  his  gun.  “ Do 
three  palefaces  frighten  you  ? Forward  ! 
Forward !” 

The  Indians  uttered  their  war  yell, 
and  rushed  on  the  hunters.  The  other 
Indians,  warned  of  what  was  happening 
by  the  shouts  of  their  comrades,  ran  up 
hurriedly  to  take  part  in  the  fight. 


8 


124 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER. 

We  must  leave  our  three  valiant 
champions  for  a few  moments  in  their 
present  critical  position,  to  speak  of  one 
of  the  important  persons  of  this  story, 
whom  we  have  neglected  too  long. 

Immediately  after  the  departure  of 
the  Indians,  John  Black,  with  that 
American  activity,  equalled  in  no  other 
country,  set  to  work  beginning  his 
clearing.  The  peril  he  had  incurred, 
and  which  he  had  only  escaped  by  a 
miracle  incomprehensible  to  him,  had 
caused  him  to  make  very  earnest  reflec- 
tions. He  understood  that  in  the  iso- 
lated spot  where  he  was,  he  could  not 
expect  assistance  from  any  one — that  he 
must  alone  confront  the  danger  that 
would  doubtlessly  menace  him ; and 
that,  consequently,  he  must,  before  all 
else,  think  about  defending  the  settled 
ment  against  a coup  de  main. 

Major  Melville  had  heard,  through 
his  engages  and  trappers,  of  the  colo- 
nist ; but  the  latter  was  perfectly  igno- 
rant that  he  was  only  ten  miles  from 
Port  Mackenzie.  His  resolution  once 
formed,  John  Black  carried  it  out  im- 
mediately. 

To  those  people  whc  have  not  seen 
American  clearings,  the  processes  em- 
ployed b}  the  squatters,  and  the  skill 
with  which  they  cut  down  the  largest 
trees  in  a few  moments,  would  appear 
as  prodigies. 

Black  considered  that  he  had  not  a 
moment  to  lose,  and  aided  by  his  son 
and  servants,  set  to  work.  The  tempo- 
rary camp,  as  we  have  seen,  was  situ- 
ated on  a rather  high  mound,  which 
commanded  the  plain  for  a long  dis- 
tance. It  was  here  that  the  colonist  de- 
termined to  build  his  house. 

He  began  by  planting  all  round  the 
platform  of  the  hill  a row  of  enormous 
stakes,  twelve  feet  high,  and  fastened 
together  by  large  bolts.  This  first  en- 
ceinte finished,  he  dug  behind  it  a trench 
about  eight  feet  wide  and  fifteen  deep, 
throwing  up  the  earth  on  the  edge,  so 
as  to  form  a second  line  of  defence. 
Then,  in  the  interior  of  this  improvised 


fortress,  which,  if  defended  by  a reso 
lute  garrison,  was  impregnable,  unless 
cannon  were  brought  up  to  form  a 
breach — for  the  abrupt  slope  of  the  hill 
rendered  any  assault  impossible — he 
laid  the  foundation  of  his  family’s  future 
abode. 

The  temporary  arrangements  he  had 
made  allowed  him  to  continue  his  further 
labors  less  hastily  ; through  his  prodi- 
gious activity,  he  could  defy  the  attacks 
of  all  the  prowlers  on  the  prairie. 

His  wife  and  daughter  had  actively 
helped  him,  for  they  understood,  better 
than  the  rest  of  the  family,  the  utility 
of  these  defensive  works.  The  poor 
ladies,  little  used  to  the  rude  toil  they 
had  been  engaged  in,  needed  rest. 

Black  had  not  spared  himself  more 
than  the  rest.  He  understood  the  jus- 
tice of  his  wife  and  daughter’s  entrea- 
ties, and  as  he  had  nothing  to  fear  for 
the  present,  he  generously  granted  a 
whole  day’s  rest  to  the  little  colony. 

The  events  that  marked  the  squatter’s 
arrival  in  the  province  had  left  a pro- 
found  impression  on  the  hearts  of  Mrs. 
Black  and  her  daughter. 

Diana,  especially,  had  maintained  a 
recollection  of  the  Count,  which  time, 
far  from  weakening,  rendered  only  the 
more  vivid.  The  Count’s  chivalrous 
character,  the  noble  way  in  which  he 
had  acted,  and — let  us  speak  the  truth 
— his  physical  qualities,  all  combined  to 
render  him  dear  to  the  young  girl, 
whose  life  had  hitherto  passed  away 
calmly,  nothing  happening  to  cast  a 
cloud  over  her  heart.  Many  times 
since  the  young  man’s  departure,  she 
stopped  in  her  work,  raised  her  head, 
looked  anxiously  round  her,  and  then 
resumed  her  toil,  while  stifling  a sigh. 

Mothers  are  quick-sighted,  especially 
those  who,  like  Mrs.  Black,  really  love 
their  daughters.  What  her  husband 
and  son  did  not  suspect,  then,  she  gues- 
sed merely  by  looking  for  a few  min- 
utes at  the  poor  girl’s  pale  face,  her  eyes 
surrounded  by  a dark  ring,  her  pensive 
look,  and  inattention. 

Diana  was  in  love. 

Mrs.  Black  looked  around  her.  No 
one  could  be  the  object  of  that  love. 
So  far  back  as  she  could  remember, 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


125 


she  called  to  mind  no  one  her  daughter 
had  appeared  to  distinguish  before  their 
departure  from  the  clearing,  where  she 
had  passed  her  youth.  Besides,  when 
the  little  party  set  out  in  search  of  a 
fresh  home,  Diana  seemed  joyful,  she 
prattled  gaily  as  a bird,  and  appeared 
to  trouble  herself  about  none  of  those 
she  left  behind. 

After  these  reflections,  the  mother 
sighed  in  her  turn  ; if  she  had  divined 
her  daughter’s  love,  she  had  been  un- 
able to  discover  the  man  who  was  the 
object  of  that  love.  Mrs.  Black  re- 
solved to  cross  question  her  daughter  as 
soon  as  she  happened  to  be  alone  with 
her ; till  then  she  feigned  to  be  in  per- 
fect ignorance. 

The  day  of  rest  granted  by  John 
Black  to  his  family  would  probably 
offer  her  the  favorable  opportunity  she 
awaited  so  impatiently.  Hence  she 
joyfully  received  the  news  which  her 
husband  gave  her  in  the  evening  after 
prayers,  which,  according  to  the  custom 
of  the  family,  were  said  in  common  be- 
fore going  to  bed. 

The  next  morning,  after  sunrise,  ac- 
cording to  their  daily  habit,  the  two 
ladies  prepared  the  breakfast,  while  the 
servants  led  the  cattle  down  to  the 
liver. 

“ Wife,”  the  squatter  said,  at  break- 
fast, “ William  and  I intend,  as  work 
is  suspended  for  to-day,  to  mount  our 
horses,  and  go  and  visit  the  neighbor- 
hood, which  we  have  not  seen  yet.” 

“ Do  not  go  too  far,  my  friend,  and 
be  well  armed  ; you  know  that  in  the 
desert  dangerous  meetings  are  not 
rare.” 

“Yes;  so  be  at  ease.  Although  I 
believe  that  we  have  nothing  to  fear  for 
the  present,  I will  be  prudent.  Would 
you  not  feel  inclined  to  accompany  us, 
as  well  as  Diana,  and  take  a look  at 
your  new  domain  V1 

The  girl’s  eyes  glistened  with  joy  at 
this  proposition:  she  opened  her  lips  to 
reply  ; but  her  mother  laid  her  hand 
on  her  mouth,  and  spoke  instead  of 
her. 

“ You  must  excuse  us,  my  dear,”  she 
said,  with  a certain  degree  of  vivacity, 
“ but  women,  as  you  know,  have  always 
something  to  do.  Diana  and  I will  put 


everything  in  order  during  your  ab- 
sence, which  our  busy  labors  of  the 
last  few  days  have  prevented  us  doing.” 

“ As  you  please,  wife.” 

“ Besides,”  she  continued,  with  a 
smile,  “ as  we  shall  probably  remain  a 
long  time  here — ” 

“ I fancy  so,”  the  squatter  interrup- 
ted. 

“ Well,  I shall  not  lack  opportunity 
of  visiting  our  domains,  as  you  call 
them,  another  day.” 

“ Excellently  argued,  ma’am,  and  I 
am  quite  of  your  opinion;  William 
and  I will  therefore  take  our  ride  alone  •, 
I would  ask  you  not  to  feel  alarmed  if 
we  do  not  come  home  till  rather  late.” 

“ No  ; but  on  condition,  that  you  re- 
turn before  night.” 

“ Agreed.” 

They  spoke  of  something  else ; still, 
towards  the  end  of  the  meal  Sam,  with- 
out suspecting  it,  brought  the  conversa- 
tion back  nearly  to  the  same  subject. 

“ I am  certain,  Jim,”  he  said  to  his 
comrade,  “ that  the  young  man  was  not 
a Canadian,  as  you  fancy,  but  a French- 
man.” 

“ Who  are  you  talking  about  V1  the 
squatter  asked. 

“The  gentleman  who  accompanied 
the  redskins,  and  made  them  give  us 
back  our  cattle.” 

“ Yes,  without  counting  the  other 
obligations  we  are  under  to  him,  for  if 
l am  now  the  owner  of  a clearing,  it 
was  through  him.” 

“ He  is  a worthy  gentleman,”  Mrs. 
Black  said,  with  a purpose. 

“Yes,  yes,”  Diana  murmured,  in  an 
indistinct  voice. 

“ He  is  a Frenchman,”  Black  as- 
serted. “There  cannot  be  a doubt  of 
that ; those  Canadian  scoundrels  are 
incapable  of  acting  in  the  way  he  did 
to  us.” 

Like  all  the  North  Americans,  Black 
heartily  detested  the  Canadians ; why 
he  did  so,  he  could  not  have  said,  but 
this  hatred  was  innate  in  his  heart. 

“ Bah  !”  William  said,  “ what  matter 
his  country,  he  has  a fine  heart,  and  is  a 
true  gentleman.  For  my  part,  father, 
I know  a certain  William  Black,  who  is 
ready  to  die  for  him.” 

“ By  Heaven !”  the  squatter  ex- 


126 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


claimed,  as  he  struck  the  table  with  his 
fist,  “ you  would  be  only  doing  your 
duty,  and  discharging  a sacred  debt ; I 
would  give  anything  to  see  him  again, 
and  prove  to  him  that  I am  not  un- 
grateful.” 

“ Well  spoken,  father,”  William  said 
joyously,  “ honest  men  are  too  rare  in 
the  wrorld  for  us  not  to  cling  to  those 
we  know  ; if  we  should  meet  again,  I 
will  show  him  what  sort  of  a man  J 
am.” 

During  this  rapid  interchange  of 
words,  Diana  said  nothing ; she  list- 
ened, with  outstretched  neck,  beaming 
face,  and  a smile  on  her  lips,  happy  to 
hear  a man  thus  spoken  of,  wrhom  she 
unconsciously  loved  since  she  first  saw 
him.  Mrs.  Black  thought  it  prudent  to 
tui*n  the  conversation. 

“ There  is  another  person,  too,  to 
whom  we  owe  great  obligations  ; for  if 
Heaven  had  not  sent  her  at  the  right 
moment  to  our  help,  we  should  have 
been  pitilessly  massacred  by  the  In- 
dians ; have  you  already  forgotten  that 
person  ?” 

God  forbid  !”  the  squatter  ex- 
claimed, quickly,  “ the  poor  creature 
did  me  too  great  a service  for  me  to 
forget  her.” 

“ But  who  on  earth  can  she  be  ?” 
William  said. 

“ 1 should  be  much  puzzled  to  say  ; I 
believe  even  that  the  Indians  and  trap- 
pers, who  cross  the  prairies,  could  give 
us  no  information  about  her.” 

“ She  only  appeared  and  disap- 
peared,” James  observed. 

“ Yes,  but  her  passage,  so  rapid  as  it 
was,  left  deep  traces,”  Mrs.  Black  said. 

“ Her  mere  presence  was  enough  to 
terrify  the  Indians.  That  woman  I shall 
always  regard  as  a good  genius,  what- 
ever opinion  may  be  expressed  about 
her  in  my  presence.” 

“We  owe  it  to  her  that  we  did  not 
suffer  atrocious  torture.” 

“ May  God  bless  the  worthy  crea- 
ture !”  the  squatter  exclaimed.  “ If 
ever  she  have  need  of  us,  she  can  come 
in  all  certaiuty  ; 1,  and  all  l*possess,  are 
at  her  disposal.” 

The  meal  was  over,  and  they  rose 
from  the  table.  Sam  had  saddled  two 
horses.  John  Black  and  his  son  took 


their  pistols,  bowie-knives,  and  riff 'S, 
mounted  their  horses,  and  after  promis- 
ing once  again  not  to  be  late,  they  cau- 
tiously descended  the  winding  path 
leading  into  the  plain. 

Diana  and  her  mother  then  besran 
putting  things  to  rights,  as  had  been 
arranged.  When  Mrs.  Black  had 
watched  the  couple  out  of  sight  on  the 
prairie,  and  assured  herself  that  the  two 
servants  were  engaged  outside  in  mend- 
ing some  harness,  she  took  her  needle- 
work, and  requested  her  daughter  to 
come  and  sit  by  her  side. 

Diana  obeyed  with  a certain  inward 
apprehension,  for  never  had  her  mother 
behaved  to  her  so  mysteriously. 

For  a few  minutes  the  two  ladies 
worked  silently  opposite  each  other. 
At  length,  Mrs.  Black'  stopped  her 
needle,  and  looked  at  her  daughter ; the 
latter  continued  her  sewing,  without  ap- 
pearing to  notice  this  intermission. 

“ Diana,”  she  asked  her,  “ have  you 
nothing  to  say  to  me  f 

“ I,  mother  ?”  the  young  girl  said, 
raising  her  head  with  amazement. 

“ Yes,  you,  my  child.” 

“ Pardon  me,  mother,”  she  went  on, 
with  a certain  tremor  in  her  voice,  “ but 
I do  not  understand  you.” 

Mrs.  Black  sighed. 

“ Yes,”  she  murmured,  “ and  so  it 
ever  must  be  ; a moment  arrives  when 
young  girls  have  unconsciously  a secret 
from  their  mothers.” 

The  poor  lady  wiped  away  a tear ; 
Diana  rose  quickly,  and  throwing  her 
arms  tenderly  round  her  mother — 

“ A secret  ? I,  a secret  from  you, 
mother  ? Oh,  how  could  you  suppose 
such  a thing  V 

“ Child  !”  Mrs.  Black  replied,  with  a 
smile  of  ineffable  kindness,  “a  mother’s 
eye  cannot  be  deceived  ;”  and  putting 
her  finger  on  her  daughter’s  palpitating 
heart,  she  said,  “ Your  secret  is  there.” 
Diana  blushed,  and  drew  back,  con- 
fused. 

“ Alas !”  the  good  lady  continued, 
“ 1 do  not  address  reproaches  to  you, 
poor,  dear  and  well-beloved  child.  You 
unconsciously  submit  to  the  laws  of 
nature  ; I,  too,  at  your  age,  was  as  you 
are  at  this  moment,  and  when  my 
mother  asked  my  secret,  like  you,  I re- 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


127 


plied  that  I had  none,  for  I was  myself 
ignorant  of  that  secret.” 

The  girl  hid  her  face,  all  bathed  in 
tears,  in  her  mother’s  breast.  The  lat- 
ter gently  removed  the  flowing  locks  of 
light  hair,  which  covered  her  daughter’s 
brow,  and  giving  her  a kiss,  said,  with 
that  accent  which  mothers  alone  pos- 
sess : 

“ Come,  my  dear  Diana,  dry  your 
tears,  do  not  trouble  yourself  so  ; only 
tell  me  your  feelings  during  the  last 
few  days.” 

“ Alas  ! my  kind  mother,”  the  girl 
replied,  smiling  through  her  tears,  “ I 
understand  nothing  myself,  and  suffer 
without  knowing  why.  I am  restless, 
languid ; everything  disgusts  and  wea- 
ries me,  and  yet  I fancy  there  has  been 
no  change  in  my  life.” 

“ You  are  mistaken,  child,”  Mrs. 
Black  answered,  gravely,  “your  heart 
has  spoken  without  your  knowledge  ; 
thus,  instead  of  the  careless,  laughing 
girl  you  were,  you  have  become  a wo- 
man— you  have  thought,  your  forehead 
has  turned  pale,  and  you  suffer.” 

“ Alas  !”  Diana  murmured. 

“ Come,  how  long  have  you  been  so 
sad?” 

“ I know  not,  mother.” 

“ Think  again.” 

“ I fancy  it  is ” 

Mrs.  Black,  understanding  her  daugh- 
ter’s  hesitation,  finished  the  sentence  for 
her. 

“ Since  the  day  after  our  arrival  here, 
is  it  not?” 

Diana  raised  to  her  mother  her  large 
blue  eyes,  in  which  profound  amazement 
could  be  read. 

“ It  is  true,”  she  murmured. 

“ Your  sorrow  began  at  the  moment 
when  the  strangers,  who  so  nobly  aided 
us,  took  their  leave  V* 

“ Yes,”  the  girl  said,  in  a low  voice, 
with  downcast  eyes,  and  blushing  fore- 
head. 

Mrs.  Black  continued  smilingly  her 
interesting  interrogatory. 

“ On  seeing  them  depart,  your  heart 
was  contracted,  your  cheeks  turned 
pale,  you  shuddered  involuntarily,  and, 

if  I had  not  held  you  1 who  watched 

you  carefully,  poor  darling — you  would 
have  fallen.  Is  not  all  this  true  ?” 


“ It  is  true,  mother,”  the  girl  said, 
with  a more  assured  voice 

“ Good  ; and  the  man  from  whom 
you  regret  being  separated — he  who 
causes  your  present  sorrow  and  suffer- 
ing, is ?” 

“ Mother  !”  she  exclaimed,  throwing 
herself  into  her  arms,  and  hiding  her 
shamed  face  in  her  bosom. 

“ It  is — ?”  she  continued. 

“ Edward  !”  the  girl  said,  in  an  in- 
articulate voice,  and  melting  into  tears. 

Mrs.  Black  directed  on  her  daughter 
a glance  of  supreme  pity,  embraced  her 
ardently  several  times,  and  said,  in  a 
soft  voice  : 

“ You  see  that  you  had  a secret,  my 
child,  since  you  love  him.” 

“Alas!”  she  murmured  naively,  “ I 
do  not  know  it,  mother.” 

The  good  lady  nodded  her  head  with 
satisfaction,  led  her  daughter  back  to 
her  chair,  and,  herself  setting  down, 
said  to  her : 

“ And  now  that  we  have  had  a 
thorough  explanation,  and  there  is  no 
longer  a secret  between  us,  suppose  we 
have  a little  talk,  Diana.” 

“ I am  quite  willing,  mother.” 

“ Listen  to  me,  then ; my  age  and 
experience,  leaving  out  of  sight  the 
position  in  which  I stand  to  you,  author- 
ize me  in  giving  you  advice.  Will  you 
hear  it  V' 

“ Oh,  mother  ! you  know  I respect 
and  love  you.” 

“ 1 know  it,  dear  child  ; I know  too, 
as  I have  never  left  you  since  your 
birth,  and  I have  incessantly  watched 
over  you,  how  generous  your  mind  is, 
how  noble  your  heart,  and  how  capable 
of  self-devotion.  I must  cause  you  great 
pain,  poor  girl ; but  it  is  better  to  at- 
tend to  the  green  wound,  than  allow 
time  to  render  the  evil  incurable.” 

“Alas!” 

“ This  raging  love,  which  has  uncon- 
sciously entered  your  heart,  cannot  b6 
very  great  ; it  is  rather  the  awakening 
of  the  mind  to  those  gentle  feelings  and 
noble  instincts,  whichembellish  existence 
and  characterize  the  woman,  than  a 
passion;  your  love  is  only  in  reality  a 
momentary  exaltation  of  the  brain’s 
feverish  imagination  ; like  all  young 
girls,  you  aspire  to  the  unknown,  you 


128 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


seek  and  ideal,  the  reality  of  which 
does  not  exist  for  you ; but  you  do  not 
love.  Nay,  more,  you  cannot  love ; 
the  feeling  you  experience  at  the  mo- 
ment is  entirely  in  the  head,  and  the 
heart  goes  for  nothing.” 

“ Mother  !”  the  young  girl  interrupt- 
ed. 

33  “ Dear  Diana,”  she  continued,  taking 

her  hand,  and  pressing  it,  “ let  me  make 
you  suffer  a little  now,  to  spare  you  at 
a later  date  the  horrible  pangs,  which 
would  produce  the  despair  of  your  whole 
existence.  The  man  you  fancy  you  love 
you  will  probably  never  see  again ; he 
is  ignorant  of  your  attachment,  and  does 
not  share  it.  I am  speaking  cold  and 
implacable  reason ; it  is  logical,  and 
spares  us  much  grief,  while  passion  is 
never  so,  and  always  produces  pain  ; 
but  supposing,  for  a moment,  that  this 
young  man  loved  you,  you  could  never 
be  his.” 

“ But  if  he  love  me,  mother,”  she  said 
timidly. 

“ Poor  babe  !”  the  mother  continued, 
with  an  accent  of  sublime  pity.  “ Do 
you  even  know  whether  he  be  free1? 
Who  has  told  you  that  he  is  not  mar- 
ried? But  I will  allow  it  for  a mo- 
ment; this  young  man  is  noble  ; he  be- 
longs to  one  of  the  oldest  and  proudest 
families  in  Europe ; his  fortune  is’  im- 
mense. Do  you  believe  that  he  will 
ever  consent  to  abandon  all  the  social 
advantages  his  position  guarantees  him? 
— that  he  will  bow  his  family  pride  to 
give  his  hand  to  the  daughter  of  a poor, 
American  squatter  ?” 

“ It  is  true,”  she  murmured  letting 
her  head  fall  in  her  hands. 

“ And  even  if  he  did  so,  though  it  is 
impossible,  would  you  consent  to  fol- 
low him,  and  leave  in  the  desert  a fath- 
er and  mother,  who  have  only  you,  and 
who  would  die  of  despair  ere  your  de- 
parture ? Come,  Diana,  answer,  would 
you  consent?” 

" Oh,  never,  never,  mother  !”  she  ex- 


claimed, madly.  “ Oh,  I love  you  most 
of  all  ?” 

“ Good,  my  darling  ; that  is  how  I 
wished  to  see  you.  I am  happy  tfhat 
my  words  have  found  the  road  to  your 
heart.  This  man  is  kind  ; he  has  done 
us  immense  service  ; we  owe  him  grati- 
tude, but  nothing  more.” 

“Yes,  yes,  mother,”  she  murmured, 
with  a sob. 

“ You  must  only  see  in  him  a friend, 
a brother,”  she  continued,  firmly. 

“ 1 will  try,  mother.” 

“ You  promise  it  me  ?” 

The  girl  hesitated  for  a moment. 
Suddenly  she  raised  her  head,  and  said 
bravely  : 

“ I thank  you,  mother.  I swear  to 
you,  not  to  forget  him,  that  would  be 
impossible,  but  so  thoroughly  to  conceal 
my  love,  that,  wilh  the  exception  of 
yourself,  no  one  shall  suspect  it.” 

“ Come  to  my  arms,  my  child  ; you 
understand  your  duty  ; you  are  noble 
and  good.” 

At  this  moment  James  entered. 

“ Mistress,”  he  said,  “ the  master  »s 
coming  back,  but  there  are  several  per- 
sons with  him.” 

“ Wipe  your  eyes,  and  follow  me, 
dear;  let  us  go  and  see  what  has  •hap- 
pened.” 

And,  stooping  down  to  her  daugh- 
ter’s ear,  she  whimpered  : 

“ When  we  are  alone,  we  will  speak 
of  him.” 

“ Yes,  mother,”  Diana  said,  almost 
joyfully.  “ Oh,  how  good  you  are,  and 
how  1 love  you.” 

They  went  out  and  looked  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  plain.  At  a considerable 
distance  from  the  fort,  they  noticed  a 
party  of  four  or  five  persons,  at  the 
head  of  whom  were  John  Black  and  his 
son  William. 

“ What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?”  Mrs. 
Black  said  anxiously. 

“ We  shall  soon  know,  mother  ; calm 
yourself  ; they  seem  to  be  riding  too 
gently  for  us  to  feel  any  alarm.” 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


129 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

IVON. 

The  Count  and  his  two  companions, 
as  we  have  seen,  bravely  awaited  the 
attack  of  the  Indians  : it  was  terrible. 

For  an  instant  there  was  a horrible 
melee  hand  to  hand  : then  the  Indians 
fell  back  to  draw  breath  and  begin 
again.  Ten  corpses  lay  at  the  feet  of 
the  three  men,  who  were  motionless 
and  firm  as  a block  of  granite. 

“ By  heavens  !”  the  Count  said,  as  he 
wiped  away,  with  the  back  of  his  hand, 
the  perspiration  mingled  with  blood 
that  stood  in  large  beads  on  his  fore- 
head, “ it  is  a glorious  fight.” 

“ Yes,”  Brighteye  replied  carelessly  ; 
“ but  it  is  mortal.” 

“ What  matter,  if  we  die  like  men?” 
“ Hum  ! 1 am  not  of  that  opinion. 
As  long  as  there  is  a chance,  let  us 
seize  it.” 

“ But  none  is  left  us  !” 

“ Perhaps  there  is  ; but  let  me  act.” 
“ I ask  no  better.  Still  I confess  to 
you  that  I find  this  fight  glorious.” 

“ It  is  really  very  agreeable  ; but  it 
would  be  much  more  so,  if  we  lived  to 
recount  it.” 

“ On  my  word,  that  is  true.  I did 
not  think  of  that.” 

“ Yes,  but  I did.” 

The  Canadian  stooped  down  to  Ivon, 
and  whispered  some  words  in  his  ear. 

“Yes,”  the  Breton  replied,  “ provi- 
ded I am  not  afraid.” 

“ Bravo !”  the  hunter  said,  with  a 
smile ; “ you  will  do  what  you  can. 
That  is  agreed.” 

“ Agreed.” 

“ Look  out,  comrades,”  the  Count 
shouted  ; “ here  are  the  enemy  !” 

In  truth,  the  Indians  were  ready  to 
renew  the  attack.  Natah  Otann  and 
White  Buffalo  were  resolved  on  taking 
the  Count  alive,  and  without  a wound  ; 
they  had  consequently  given  their  war- 
riors orders  not  to  employ  their  fire- 
arms ; content  themselves  with  parry- 
ing the  blows  aimed  at  them  ; but  take 
him  at  every  risk.  During  the  few 
moments’  respite  which  the  Indians  had 
allowed  the  white  men,  the  other  Indi- 
ans had  ran  up  ; so  that  the  hunters, 


surrounded  on  all  sides,  had  to  make 
head  against  at  least  forty  redskins.  It 
would  have  been  madness  or  blind  te- 
merity to  attempt  opposing  such  a mass 
of  enemies  ; and  yet  the  white  men  did 
not  appear  to  dream  of  asking  quarter. 

At  the  moment  Natah  Otann  was  go- 
ing to  give  the  signal  of  attack,  White 
Buffalo,  who  had  hitherto  stood  aloof, 
gloomy  and  thoughtful,  interposed. 

“ A moment  !”  he  said. 

“For  what  good  ?”  the  chief  remark- 
ed. 

“ Let  me  make  the  attempt.  Per- 
haps they  will  recognize  that  a struggle 
is  impossible,  and  consent  to  accept  our 
propositions.” 

“ I doubt  it,”  Natah  Otann  muttered, 
shaking  his  head  ; “ they  appear  very 
resolute.” 

“ Let  me  try  it.  You  know  how 
necessary  it  is  for  the  success  of  our 
plans  that  we  should  seize  this  man  ?” 

“ Unfortunately  ; if  we  do  not  take 
care,  he  will  be  killed.” 

“That  is  what  I wish  to  avoid.’ 

“ Try  it  then  ; but  I am  convinced 
you  will  fail.” 

“ Who  knows  ? I can  try,  at  any 
rate.” 

White  Buffalo  walked  a few  paces  in 
advance,  and  was  then  about  six  yards 
from  the  Count. 

“What  do  you  want?”  the  young 
man  said.  “ If  1 did  not  involuntarily 
remember  that  you  are  a Frenchman.  I 
should  have  long  ago  put  a bullet  into 
your  chest.” 

“ Fire  ! — what  stops  you  ?”  the  exile 
replied,  in  a sad  voice.  “ Do  you  be- 
lieve that  I fear  death?” 

“ Enough  talking.  Retire ! or  I will 
fire.” 

And  he  leveled  his  rifle  at  him. 

“ I wish  to  say  one  word  to  you.” 

“ Speak  quickly  and  be  off.” 

“ I offer  you  and  your  comrades  your 
lives,  if  you  will  surrender.” 

The  Count  burst  into  a laugh. 

“ Nonsense,”  he  said,  with  a shrug  of 
his  shoulders  ; “ do  you  take  us  for 

fools?  We  were  the  guests  of  your 
companions,  and  they  have  impudently 
violated  the  law  of  nations.” 

“ That  is  your  last  word,  then.” 

“ The  last,  by  Jove  ! You  must  have 


130 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


lived  a long  time  among  the  Indians  to 
have  forgotten  that  Frenchmen  would 
sooner  die  than  be  cowards.” 

“ Your  blood  be  on  your  own  heads, 
then.” 

“So  be  it,  odious  renegade,  who  fight 
with  savages  against  your  brothers.” 
This  insult  struck  the  old  man  to  the 
heart ; he  bent  a fearful  glance  on  the 
young  man,  turned  pale  as  death,  and 
withdrew,  tottering  like  a drunkard,  and 
muttering  in  a low  voice, — 

“ Oh,  these  nobles  !” 

“ Well  ?”  Natah  Otann  asked  him. 

“ He  refuses,”  he  answered  quickly. 

“ I was  sure  of  it.  Now  is  our  turn.” 
Raising  to  his  lips  his  war  whistle,  he 
produced  a shrill  and  lengthened  sound, 
to  which  the  Indians  responded  with  a 
frightful  yell,  and  rushed  like  a legion 
of  demons  on  the  three  men,  who  re- 
ceived them  without  yielding  an  inch. 
The  melee  recommenced  ri  all  its  fury  ; 
Uk  three  men  clubbed  their  rifles,  and 
dealt  crushing  blows  around. 

Ivon  performed  prodigies  of  valor, 
rising  and  sinking  his  rifle  with  the  regu- 
larity of  a pendulum,  smashing  a man 
at  every  blow,  and  muttering  : 

“ Ouf,  there’s  ano'  her  : holy  Virgin, 
I feel  my  terror  coming  upon  me.” 

Still  the  circle  drew  closer  round  the 
three  men;  others  took  the  places  of 
the  Indians  who  fell,  and  were  in  their 
turn  pushed  onward  by  those  behind. 

The  hunters  were  weary  of  striking. 
Their  arms  did  not  fall  with  the  same 
vigor;  their  blows  failed  in  regularity  ; 
the  blood  rose  to  their  heads ; their 
eyes  were  injected  with  blood,  and  they 
had  a dizziness  in  their  ears. 

“We  are  lost !”  the  Count  muttered. 
c<  Courage  !”  Brighteye  yelled,  as  he 
smashed  in  the  skull  of  an  Indian. 

“ It  is  not  courage  that  fails  me,  but 
strength,”  the  young  man  answered, 
in  a fainting  voice. 

“ Forward,  forward  !”  Natah  Otann 
repeated,  bounding  like  a demon  round 
the  three  men. 

“ Now,  Ivon,  now  !”  Brighteye  cried 
out. 

“ Good  bye,”  the  Breton  replied. 

And  turning  his  terrible  weapon 
round  his  head,  he  rushed  into  the  den- 
sest throng  of  the  Indians. 


“ Follow  me,  Count,”  Brighteye 
went  on. 

“ Come  on  then,”  the  latter  shouted. 

The  two  men  executed  on  the  op 
posite  side  the  manoeuvre  attempted  by 
the  Breton. 

Ivon,  the  coward  you  know,  seemed 
to  have  at  the  moment  entirely  forgot- 
ten his  fear  of  being  speared  : he  ap- 
peared, like  Briareus,  to  have  a hun- 
dred arms  to  level  the  numerous  assai- 
lants who  incessantly  rose  before  him, 
and  cleft  his  way  through  the  throng. 
Fortunately  for  the  Breton,  most  of  the 
Indians  had  rushed  in  pursuit  of  game 
more  valuable  to  them,  that  is,  the 
Count  and  the  Canadian,  who  had  re- 
doubled their  efforts,  though  already  so 
prodigious. 

While  still  fighting,  Ivon  had  reached 
the  skirt  of  the  wood,  about  three  or 
four  yards  from  the  spot  where  the 
horses  were  tied.  This  was  probably 
wha^>  the  Breton  wished  for.  So  soon 
as  he  found  himself  in  a straight  line 
with  the  horses,  instead  of  pushing  for- 
ward as  he  had  hitherto  done,  he  began 
to  fall  back  step  to  step,  so  as  to  arrive 
close  to  then).  Still,  he  always  fought 
with  that  cold  resolution  which  distin- 
guishes the  Bretons,  and  renders  them 
such  terrible  foemen. 

Suddenly,  when  he  found  himself 
near  enough  to  the  horses,  Ivon  gave  a 
parting  blow  to  the  nearest  Indian,  sent 
him  staggering  backwards  with  a dash- 
ed-in skull,  took  a panther  leap,  and 
reached  the  Count’s  horse.  In  a second 
he  had  mounted,  dug  his  spurs  into  the 
noble  animal,  and  galloped  off,  after 
knocking  down  two  Indians  who  tried 
to  stop  him. 

“ Hurrah  ! saved  ! saved  !”  he  shout- 
ed, in  a voice  of  thunder,  as  he  disap- 
peared in  the  forest,  where  the  Black- 
feet  did  not  dare  to  follow  him. 

The  redskins  stood  stupified  by  such 
a prodigious  flight. 

The  cry  uttered  by  Ivon  was  doubt- 
lessly a signal  agreed  on  between  him 
and  Brighteye  ; for,  so  soon  as  he  heard 
it,  the  hunter,  by  a hurried  movement, 
seized  the  Count’s  arm  as  he  was  in  the 
act  of  striking. 

“What  on  earth  are  you  about?” 
the  latter  said,  turning  to  him  augrily. 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


131 


“ I am  saving  you,”  the  hunter  re- 
plied, coolly  ; “ throw  down  your  wea- 
pon 1 — we  surrender,”  he  then  ex- 
claimed. 

“ You  will  explain  your  conduct,  I 
presume  ?”  the  Count  continued. 

“ Be  of  good  cheer ; you  will  ap- 
prove it.” 

“ Be  it  so.” 

And  he  threw  the  gun  down. 

The  Indians,  whom  the  hunters’ 
heroic  defence  kept  at  a distance,  rushed 
upon  them  so  soon  as  they  saw  they 
were  disarmed. 

Natah  Otann  and  White  Buffalo  hur- 
ried up ; the  two  men  already  were 
thrown  down  on  the  sand,  when  the 
chief  interposed. 

“ Sir,”  he  said,  “ You  are  my  pri- 
soner ; and  you,  too,  Brighteye.” 

The  young  man  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders with  contempt. 

“ Reckon  up  what  your  victory  has 
already  cost  you,”  the  hunter  replied, 
with  a sardonic  smile,  and  pointing  to 
the  numerous  corpses  that  lay  on  the 
plain. 

Natah  Otann,  however,  pretended  not 
to  hear  this  remark. 

“ If  you  will  give  me  your  word  of 
honor  not  to  escape,  gentlemen,”  White 
Buffalo  said,  “ you  will  be  unloosed,  and 
your  weapons  restored  to  you.” 

“ Is  this  another  trap  you  are  laying 
for  us?”  the  Count  asked,  haughtily. 

“ Bah  !”  Brighteye  said,  with  a signi- 
ficant glance  at  his  comrade,  “ we  will 
give  our  word  for  four-and-twenty 
hours ; after  that,  we  will  see.” 

“ You  hear,  gentlemen,”  the  young 
man  said,  “ this  hunter  and  myself 
pledge  our  words  for  four-and-twenty 
hours.  Does  that  suit  you  ? Of  course, 
at  the  end  of  that  time,  we  are  free  to 
recal  it.” 

“ Or  to  pledge  it  again,”  the  Canadian 
added,  with  a smile ; “ what  do  we  risk 
by  doing  so  ?” 

The  two  chiefs  exchanged  a few  whis- 
pered words. 

“We  accept,”  Natah  Otann  at  length 
said. 

At  a sign  from  him,  the  prisoners’ 
bonds  were  cut,  and  they  rose. 

“ Hum  !”  Brighteye  said,  stretching 
himself  with  delight,  “ it  does  one  good 


to  have  the  use  of  his  limbs.  Bah  ! I 
knew  they  would  not  kill  me  this  time 
either.” 

“ Here  are  your  horses  and  arms, 
gentlemen,”  the  chief  said, 

“Permit  me,”  the  Court  remarked, 
coolly,  drawing  his  watch  from  his 
pocket,  “ it  is  now  half  after  seven ; you 
have  our  parole  till  the  same  time  to- 
morrow evening.” 

“ Very  good,”  White  Buffalo  said, 
with  a bow. 

“ And  now,  where  are  you  going  to 
take  us,  if  you  please?”  the  hunter 
asked,  with  a crafty  look. 

“ To  the  village  !” 

“ Thank  you.” 

The  two  men  jumped  into  their  sad- 
dles, and  followed  the  Indians,  who  only 
waited  for  them  to  start.  Ten  minutes 
later,  this  place,  on  which  so  many 
events  had  occurred  during  the  day,  be- 
came again  calm  and  silent. 

We  will  leave  the  Count  and  the 
hunter  returning  to  the  village  under 
good  escort,  to  follow  the  track  of  Ivon. 

After  leaving  the  battle-field,  the  lat- 
ter rode  straight  ahead,  not  caring  to 
lose  precious  time  in  looking  for  a path  ; 
for  the  moment  all  were  good,  provided 
that  they  bore  him  from  the  enemies  he 
had  so  providentially  escaped.  Still, 
after  galloping  for  about  an  hour  across 
the  wood,  reassured  by  the  perfect 
silence  that  prevailed  around  him,  he 
gradually  checked  his  horse’s  speed.  It 
was  high  time  for  this  idea  to  occur  to 
him,  as  the  poor  horse,  so  harshly  treat- 
ed, was  beginning  to  break  down.  The 
Breton  profited  by  this  slight  truce  to 
reload  his  weapons. 

“ I am  not  brave,”  he  said,  in  a low 
voice,  “ but,  by  Jove  ! as  my  poor  mas- 
ter says,  the  first  scamp  that  attempts 
to  bar  my  way,  I will  blow  out  his 
brains,  so  surely  as  my  name  is  Ivon.” 

And  the  worthy  man  would  have 
done  as  he  said,  we  feel  assured.  After 
advancing  a few  hundred  yards,  Ivon 
looked  around,  stopped  his  horse,  and 
dismounted. 

“ What  is  the  use  of  going  any 
further?”  he  said,  resuming  his  solilo- 
quy ; “ my  horse  wants  rest,  and  I shall 
not  be  the  worse  for  a halt.  As  well 
here  as  elsewhere.” 


132 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRTE. 


On  this,  he  took  off  his  horse’s  saddle, 
carried  his  master’s  portmanteau  to  the 
foot  of  a tree,  and  began  lighting  a fire. 

“ How  quickly  night  coiues  on  in  this 
confounded  country,”  he  muttered,  “ it 
is  hardly  eight  o’clock,  and  it  is  as  black 
as  in  an  oven.” 

While  discoursing  thus  all  alone,  he 
had  collected  a considerable  quantity 
of  dry  wood.  He  returned  to  the  spot 
he  had  selected  for  camping,  piled  up 
the  wood,  struck  a light,  knelt,  and  be- 
gan blowing  with  all  the  strength  of  his 
lungs  to  make  it  catch.  In  a moment, 
he  raised  his  head  to  breathe,  but  uttered 
a yell  of  terror,  and  almost  fell  back- 
wards. He  had  seen,  about  three  paces 
from  the  fire,  two  persons  silently  watch- 
ing him.  The  first  moment  of  surprise 
past,  the  Breton  bounded  on  his  feet, 
and  cocked  his  pistols. 

“Confuse  you,”  he  shouted,  “you 
gave  me  a pretty  fright ; but  no  matter, 
we  will  see.” 

“ My  brother  may  be  at  rest,”  a soft 
voice  replied,  in  bad  English,  “ we  do 
not  wish  to  do  him  any  harm.” 

As  a Breton,  Ivon  spoke  nearly  as 
good  English  as  he  did  French.  On 
hearing  these  words,  he  bent  forward, 
and  looked. 

“ Oh  !”  he  said,  “ the  Indian  girl.” 

“ Yes,  it  is  1,”  Prairie  Flower  an- 
swered, as  she  stepped  forward. 

Her  companion  followed  her,  and 
Ivon  recognized  Red  Wolf. 

“ You  are  welcome,”  he  remarked, 
“ to  my  poor  encampment.” 

“ Thanks,”  she  answered. 

“ How  is  it  that  you  are  here  ?” 

“ And  you,”  she  said,  answering  one 
question  by  another. 

“ Oh,  I 1”  he  said,  shaking  his  head, 
“ that  is  a sad  story.” 

“ W hat  does  my  brother  mean  ?” 
Red  Wolf  asked. 

“ Good,  good,”  the  Breton  said,  turn- 
ing his  head  ; “ that  is  my  business 

aud  not  yours.  First,  tell  me  what 
brings  you  to  me,  and  1 will  then  see  if 
I may  confide  to  you  what  has  happened 
to  my  master  and  myself.” 

“My  brother  is  prudent,”  Prairie 
Flower  answered,  “ he  is  right  : pru- 
dence is  good  on  the  prairie.” 

“ Hum  ! 1 wish  my  master  had  heard 


you  make  that  remark,  perhaps  he 
would  not  be  where  he  now  is.” 

Prairie  Flower  gave  a start  of  ter- 
ror. 

“ Wah  ! has  any  misfortune  happen- 
ed to  him  ?”  she  said,  in  an  agonized 
voice. 

Ivon  looked  at  her. 

“ You  appear  to  take  an  interest  in 
him  ?” 

“He  is  brave,”  she  exclaimed  pa.s 
sionately  ; “ this  morning  he  killed  the 
cougars  that  were  threatening  Prairie 
Flower  ; she  has  a heart — she  will  re- 
member.” 

“ That  is  true  ; quite  true,  young  la- 
dy ;”  he  said,  “ he  saved  your  life.  Tell 
me  first,  though,  how  it  is  we  should 
have  met  in  this  forest  V 1 

“ Listen,  then,  as  you  insist.” 

The  Breton  bowed.  To  all  his  other 
qualities  Ivon  added  that  of  being  as 
obstinate  as  an  Andalusian  mule.  Once 
the  worthy  man  had  taken  a theory  in- 
to his  head,  nothing  could  turn  him 
from  it. 

We  must  grant,  however,  that  he  had 
at  present  excellent  reason  to  distrust 
the  Indians. 

Prairie  Flower  continued  : 

“ After  Glasseye  had  so  bravely  kill- 
ed the  cougars,”  she  said,  with  consid- 
erable emotion,  “ the  great  chief,  Natah 
Otann,  was  angry  with  Prairie  Flower, 
and  ordered  her  to  return  to  the  village 
with  Red  Wolf.” 

“ I know  all  that,”  Ivon  interrupted, 
“ I was  there ; and  that  is  why  it  seems 
to  me  so  extraordinary  to  meet  you 
here,  when  you  should  have  been  on  the 
road  to  the  village.” 

The  Indian  girl  gave  one  of  those  little 
pouts  peculiar  to  her, and  which  rendered 
her  so  seductive. 

“ The  pale  man  is  as  curious  as  an 
old  squaw,”  she  said,  with  an  accent  of 
ill-humor  ; “ why  does  he  wish  to  know 
Prairie  Flower’s  secret?  She  has  in 
her  heart  a little  b-rd  which  sings 
pleasant  songs  to  her,  and  attracts  her 
in  the  footsteps  of  the  pale  face  who 
saved  her.” 

“ Ah  !”  said  the  Breton,  partly  catch- 
ing the  girl’s  meaning;  “that  is  dif- 
ferent.” 

“ Instead  of  returning  to  the  village,” 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


133 


Red  Wolf  interposed,  “Prairie  Flower 
wished  to  return  to  the  side  of  Glass- 
eye.” 

* The  Breton  reflected  fora  longtime  ; 
the  two  Indians  watched  him  silently, 
patiently  waiting  till  he  thought  proper 
to  explain  himself.  Presently  he  raised 
his  head,  and,  fixing  his  cunning  gray 
eye  on  the  girl,  he  asked  her  distinctly, — 

“You  love  him,  then  ?” 

“ Yes,”  she  answered,  looking  down 
on  the  ground. 

“Very  good.  Now  listen  attentive- 
ly to  what  1 am  about  to  tell  you  : it 
will  interest  you  prodigiously  or  I am 
greatly  mistaken.” 

The  two  hearers  bent  down  toward 
him,  and  listened  attentively. 

Ivon  then  related  most  copiously  his 
master’s  conversation  with  the  two 
chiefs ; the  dispute  that  arose  between 
them ; the  combat  that  ensued  from  it, 
and  the  way  in  which  he  had  escaped. 

“ If  I did  run  away,”  he  said  in  con- 
clusion, “ heaven  is  my  witness  that  it 
was  not  for  the  purpose  of  saving  my 
life.  Though  I am  a desperate  coward 
I would  never  hesitate  to  sacrifice  my 
life  for  him  ; but  Brighteye  advised  me 
to  act  in  this  way,  so  that  I may  try 
and  find  assistance  for  them  both.” 

“ Good,”  the  girl  said,  quickly  ; “ the 
paleface  is  brave.  What  does  he  intend 
to  do  1” 

“ I mean  to  save  my  master,  by 
Jove!”  the  Breton  said,  resolutely. 
“ The  only  thing  is,  that  I do  not  know 
how  to  set  about  it.” 

“ Prairie  Flower  knows.  She  will 
help  the  paleface.” 

“Is  what  you  promise  really  true, 
young  girl  ?” 

The  Indian  maid  smiled. 

“ The  paleface  will  follow  Prairie 
Flower  and  Red  Wolf,”  she  said  ; “ they 
will  lead  him  to  a spot  where  he  will 
find  friends.” 

“ Good  : and  when  wall  you  do  it,  my 
good  girl  ?”  he  asked,  his  heart  palpi- 
tating with  joy. 

“ So  soon  as  the  paleface  is  ready  to 
start.” 

“At  once,  then,  at  once!”  the  Bre- 
ton exclaimed,  hurriedly  rising,  and 
hurrying  to  his  horse. 

Prairie  Flower  and  Red  Wolf  had  con- 


cealed their  steeds  in  the  centre  of  a 
clump  of  trees.  Ten  minutes  later,  and 
Ivon  and  his  guides  quitted  the  clearing 
where  they  had  met ; it  was  about  mid- 
night when  they  started. 

“ My  poor  master  !”  the  Breton  mut- 
tered. “Shall  I be  permitted  to  save 
him?” 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE  PLAN  OF  THE  CAMPAIGN. 

The  night  was  black,  gloomy,  and 
storm-laden.  The  wind  howled  with  a 
mournful  murmur  through  the  branches; 
at  each  gust  the  trees  shook  their  damp 
crowns,  and  sent  down  showers,  which 
pattered  on  the  shrubs.  The  sky  was 
of  a leaden  hue ; so  great  was  the 
silence  in  the  desert,  that  the  fall  of  a 
withered  leaf,  or  the  rustling  of  a branch 
touched  in  its  passage  by  some  invisible 
animal,  could  be  distinctly  heard. 

Ivon  and  his  guides  advanced  cau- 
tiously through  the  forest,  seeking  their 
road  in  the  darkness,  half  lying  on  their 
horses,  so  as  to  avoid  the  branches  that 
lashed  their  faces  at  every  moment. 

Owing  to  the  endless  turns  they  were 
compelled  to  take,  nearly  two  hours 
elapsed  ere  they  left  the  forest.  At 
length  they  debouched  on  the  plain,  and 
found  themselves  almost  simultaneou  ly 
on  the  banks  of  the  Missouri.  The 
river,  swollen  by  rain  and  snow,  rolled 
along  its  yellowish  waters  noisily. 

The  fugitives  followed  the  bank  in  a 
south-western  direction. 

Now  that  they  had  struck  the  river; 
all  uncertainty  had  ceased  for  them  ; 
their  road  was  so  distinctly  traced  that 
they  had  no  fear  of  losing  it. 

On  arriving  at  a spot  where  a point 
of  sand  jutted  out  for  several  yards  into 
the  bed  of  the  river,  and  formed  a spe- 
cies of  cape,  from  the  end  of  which  ob- 
jects could  be  seen  for  some  distance, 
owing  to  the  transparency  of  the  water, 
Red  Wolf  made  a sign  to  his  compa- 
nions to  halt,  and  himself  dismounted. 

Prairie  Flower  and  Ivon  imitated 
him. 

Ivon  was  not  sorry  to  take  a few  mo- 


134 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


merits’  rest,  and,  above  all,  make  some 
inquiries  before  proceeding  further.  At 
the  first  blush,  carried  away  by  an  un- 
reflecting movement  of  the  heart,  which 
impelled  him  to  save  his  master  by  any 
means  that  offered,  he  had  not  hesitated  : 
to  follow  his  two  strange  guides ; but, 
with  reflection,  distrust  had  returned 
still  more  powerfully,  and  the  Breton 
was  unwilling  to  go  further  with  the 
persons  he  had  met,  until  he  possessed 
undoubted  proofs  of  their  honesty. 

So  soon  as  he  had  dismounted  then, 
and  taken  off  his  horse’s  bridle,  so  that 
it  should  crop  the  tender  shoots,  Ivon 
walked  up  boldly  to  the  redskin,  and 
struck  him  on  the  shoulder. 

The  Indian,  whose  eyes  were  eagerly 
fixed  on  the  river,  turned  to  him. 

“ What  does  the  paleface  want?”  he 
asked  him. 

“ To  talk  a little  with  you,  chief.” 

“ The  moment  is  not  good  for  talk- 
ing,” the  Indian  answered,  sententiously ; 
“ the  palefaces  are  like  the  mocking- 
bird— their  tongues  must  be  ever  in 
motion  : let  my  brother  wait.” 

Ivon  did  not  understand  the  epigram. 

“No,”  he  said,  “we  must  talk  at 
once.” 

The  Indian  suppressed  an  impatient 
gesture. 

“ The  Red  Wolf’s  ears  are  open,”  he 
said  ; “ the  Chattering  Jay  can  explain 
himself.” 

The  redskins,  finding  some  difficulty 
in  pronouncing  the  names  of  people 
with  whom  the  accidents  of  the  chase 
or  of  trade  bring  them  into  relation,  are 
accustomed  to  substitute  for  these  names 
others,  derived  from  the  character  or 
physical  aspect  of  the  individual  they 
designate. 

Ivon  was  called,  by  the  Blackfoot 
Indians,  the  Chattering  Jay,  a name 
whpse  justice  we  will  refrain  from  dis- 
cussing. 

The  Breton  did  not  seem  annoyed  by 
what  Red  Wolf  said  to  him  ; absorbed 
by  the  thought  that  troubled  him,  every 
other  consideration  was  a matter  of  in- 
difference to  him. 

“ You  promised  me  to  save  Glass- 
eye,”  he  said. 

“ Yes,”  the  chief  answered,  laconical- 

iy. 


“ I accepted  your  propositions  with 
out  discussion  ; for  three  hours  I have 
followed  you  without  saying  anything; 
but,  before  going  further,  I should  not 
be  sorry  to  know  the  means  you  intend 
to  employ  to  take  him  out  of  the  hands 
of  the  enemy.” 

“ Is  my  brother  deaf,”  the  Indian 
asked. 

“ I do  not  think  so,”  Ivon  answered, 
rather  wounded  by  the  question. 

“ Then  let  him  listen.” 

“ I am  doing  so.” 

“ My  brother  hears  nothing  ?” 

“Not  the  least,  I am  free  to  con- 
fess.” 

Red  Wolf  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

“ The  palefaces  are  foxes  without 
tails,”  he  said  with  disdain  ; “ weaker 
than  children  in  the  desert.  Let  my 
brother  look,”  he  added  pointing  to  the 
river. 

Ivon  followed  the  direction  indicated, 
Winking  and  placing  his  hands  over 
his  eyes,  to  concentrate  the  visual  rays. 

“ Well,”  the  Indian  asked,  after  a 
moment,  “ has  my  brother  seen  ?” 

“ Nothing  at  all,”  the  Breton  said, 
violently.  “ May  the  evil  one  twist  my 
neck,  if  it  is  possible  for  me  to  distin- 
guish anything !” 

“ Then  my  brother  will  wait  a few 
minutes,”  the  Indian  said,  perfectly 
calm  ; “ he  will  then  see  and  hear.” 

“ Hum  !”  the  Breton  went  on,  but 
slightly  satisfied  with  this  explanation. 
“ What  shall  I see  and  hear  ?” 

“ My  brother  will  know.” 

Ivon  would  have  insisted,  but  the 
chief  took  him  by  the  arm,  pushed  him 
back,  and  hid  with  him  behind  a clump 
of  trees,  where  Prairie  Flower  was  al- 
ready ensconced. - 

“ Silence  !”  the  redskin  muttered,  in 
such  an  imperative  tone,  that  the  Bre- 
ton, convinced  of  the  gravity  of  the  sit- 
uation, deferred  to  a more  favorable 
moment  the  string  of  questions  he  pro- 
posed asking  the  chief. 

A few  minutes  elapsed. 

Red  Wolf  and  Prairie  Flower,  with 
their  bodies  bent  forward,  and  carefully 
parting  the  leaves,  looked  eagerly  in 
the  direction  of  the  river,  while  holding 
'heir  breath. 

Ivon,  bothered  in  spite  of  himself  by 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


135 


this  sort  of  conduct,  imitated  their  ex- 
ample. A sound  soon  struck  on  his 
ears,  but  so  slight  and  weak,  that  at 
first  he  fancied  himself  mistaken.  Still 
the  noise  grew  gradually  louder,  resem- 
bling that  of  paddles  cautiously  dipped 
in  the  water  ; next,  a black  dot,  at  first 
neariy  imperceptible,  but  which  grew 
larger  by  degrees,  appeared  on  the 
river. 

There  was  soon  no  doubt  in  the  Bre- 
ton’s mind.  The  black  dot  was  a ca- 
noe. On  arriving  within  a certain  dis- 
tance, the  sound  could  be  no  longer 
heard,  and  the  canoe  remained  motion- 
less about  half  way  between  the  two 
banks. 

At  this  moment  the  cry  of  the  jay 
broke  the  silence,  repeated  thrice  with 
such  perfection,  that  Ivon  instinctively 
raised  his  head  to  the  upper  branches  of 
the  tree  that  sheltered  them. 

Upon  this  signal,  the  canoe  began 
drawing  nearer  the  cape,  where  it  soon 
ran  ashore  ; but  upon  landing,  the  per- 
son in  it  raised  the  paddle  twice  in  the 
air. 

The  cry  of  the  jay  was  heard  again 
thrice  repeated. 

Upon  this  the  rower,  perfectly  reas- 
sured, as  it  seemed,  leaped  on  the  sand, 
drew  the  canoe  half  out  of  the  water, 
and  walked  boldly  in  the  direction  of 
the  cmmp  of  trees  that  served  Ivon  and 
his  comrades  as  an  observatory. 

The  latter  deeming  it  useless  to  wait 
longer,  quitted  their  shelter,  and  walked 
toward  the  new  comer,  after  recom- 
mending the  Breton  not  to  show  himself 
without  their  authority.  This  order  he 
obeyed  ; but,  with  that  prudence  which 
distinguished  him,  he  cocked  his  pistols, 
took  one  in  each  hand,  and,  reassured 
by  this  precaution,  waited  what  was 
about  to  happen. 

The  new  actor  who  had  entered  on 
the  scene,  and  in  whom  the  reader  will 
have  recognized  Mrs.  Margaret,  had  left 
Major  Melville  only  an  hour  previously, 
after  having  that  conversation  we  have 
repeated.  Although  she  did  not  expect 
to  meet  Prairie  Flower  at  this  spot,  she 
did  not  appear  at  all  astonished  at  see- 
ing her,  and  gave  her  a friendly  nod, 
to  whieh  the  girl  responded  with  a 
smile. 


“ What  is  there  new  V}  she  asked  the 
Indian. 

“ Much  he  replied. 

“ Speak.” 

The  Red  Wolf  thereupon  told  her  all 
that  had  happened  during  the  chase;  in 
what  way  he  had  learned  it,  and  how 
Ivon  had  escaped  in  order  to  seek  help 
for  his  master. 

Margaret  listened  to  the  long  story, 
without  letting  a sign  of  emotion  to  be 
seen  on  her  wrinkled,  grief- worn  face. 
When  Red  Wolf  had  ceased  speaking, 
she  reflected  for  a few  moments  ; then 
raising  her  head,  asked  : 

“ Where  is  the  paleface  ?” 

“ Here;”  the  Indian  answered,  point- 
ing to  the  clump  of  trees. 

“ Let  him  come.” 

The  chief  turned  to  fetch  him  ; but 
the  Breton  who  had  heard  the  last  word 
spoken  in  English,  and  judged  that  it 
was  intended  for  him,  left  his  hiding 
place,  alter  returning  the  pistols  to  his 
belt,  and  joined  the  party. 

At  this  moment  the  first  gleam  of  day 
began  to  appear,  the  darkness  was  rap- 
idly dissipated,  and  a reddish  hue, 
which  formed  on  the  extreme  limits  of 
the  horizon,  indicated  that  the  sun  would 
speedily  rise. 

The  She-wolf  fixed  on  the  Breton  her 
cunning  eye,  as  if  desirous  to  read  the 
depths  of  his  heart. 

Ivon  had  nothing  to  reproach  himself 
with,  and  hence  he  bravely  withstood 
the  glance. 

The  She-wolf,  satisfied  with  the 
dumb  interrogatory  to  which  she  h<id 
subjected  the  Breton,  softened  down  the 
harsh  expression  of  her  face,  and  at 
length  addressed  him  in  a voice  she  at- 
tempted to  render  conciliatory. 

“ Listen  attentively,”  she  said  to 
him. 

“I  am  listening.” 

“ You  are  devoted  to  your  master  V 

“To  the  death1?”  Ivon  answered, 
firmly. 

“ Good  ; then  I can  reckon  on  you1?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ You  understand,  I suppose,  that  wc 
four  cannot  save  your  master'?” 

“ That  appears  to  me  difficult,  I al- 
low.” 


136 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE 


“ But  we  wish  to  revenge  ourselves 
on  Natah  Otann.” 

“Very  good.” 

“ For  a long  time  our  measures  have 
been  taken  to  gain  this  end  at  a given 
moment  ; that  moment  has  arrived ; 
but  we  have  allies  we  must  warn.” 

“ It  is  true.” 

She  drew  a ring  from  her  finger. 

“ Take  this  ring.  You  know  how  to 
use  a paddle,  I suppose  ?” 

“ I am  a Breton — that  is  to  say,  a 
sailor.” 

“ Get  into  the  canoe  lying  there,  and 
without  losing  a moment,  go  down  the 
river  till  you  reach  a fort.” 

“ Hum  ! is  it  far  ?” 

“ You  will  reach  it  in  less  than  an 
hour,  if  you  are  diligent.” 

“You  may  be  sure  of  that.” 

“ So  soon  as  you  have  arrived  at  the 
fort,  you  will  ask  speech  with  Major 
Melville.  Give  him  that  ring,  and  tell 
him  all  the  events  of  which  you  have 
been  witness.” 

“ Is  that  all  ?” 

“ No  ; the  major  will  give  you  a de- 
tachment of  soldiers,  with  whom  you 
will  join  us  at  Black’s  clearing  : can  you 
find  your  way  there  again  ?” 

“ I think  so ; especially  as  it  is  on 
the  river  bank.” 

“Yes,  and  you  will  have  to  pass  it 
before  reaching  the  fort.” 

“ What  shall  I do  with  the  canoe  V ’ 

“ Abandon  it.” 

“ When  must  I start  ?” 

“ At  once ; the  sun  has  risen,  we 
must  make  haste.” 

“ And  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?” 

“ I told  you  we  were  going  to  Black’s 
clearing,  where  we  shall  wait  for  you.” 
The  Breton  reflected  for  a minute. 

“ Listen,  in  your  turn,”  he  said  ; “ I 
am  not  in  the  habit  of  discussing  orders, 
when  I think  those  given  us  are  just.  I 
do  not  think  that  you  intend,  under  such 
grave  circumstances,  to  mock  a poor 
devil,  whom  grief  renders  half  mad,  and 
who  would  joyfully  sacrifice  his  life  to 
save  his  master’s.” 

“ You  are  right.” 

“ I am,  therefore,  going  to  obey 
you.” 

“ You  should  have  done  so  already.” 


“ May  be  ; but  I have  a last  word  to 

say.” 

“ 1 am  listening.” 

“ If  you  deceive  me,  if  you  do  not 
really  help  me,  as  you  pledge  yourself,  • 
in  saving  my  master — 1 am  a coward, 
that  is  notorious,  but  on  my  word  as  a 
man,  I will  blow  out  your  brains:  even 
were  you  hidden  in  the  bowels  of  the 
earth,  I would  go  and  seek  you  to  fulfil 
my  oath.  You  hear  me?” 

“ Perfectly  ; and  now  have  you 
finished  ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then,  be  off.” 

“ I am  doing  so.” 

“ Good-bye,  till  we  meet  again.” 

The  Breton  bowed  once  more,  pulled 
the  boat  into  the  water,  jumped  in,  and 
hurried  off  at  a rate  which  showed  he 
would  soon  reach  his  destination. 

His  companions  looked  after  him,  till 
he  was  hidden  by  a bend  in  the  river. 

“And  now  what  are  we  going  to  do  ?” 
Prairie  Flower  asked. 

“ Go  to  the  clearing,  to  arrange  with 
John  Black.” 

Margaret  mounted  Ivon’s  horse,  Prai 
rie  Flower  and  Red  Wolf  each  took 
their  own,  and  the  three  started  at  a 
gallop. 

By  a fortunate  coincidence,  it  was  a 
day  chosen  by  the  squatter  to  give  his 
family  a rest,  and,  as  we  have  said,  had 
gone  out  with  William  to  take  a look 
at  his  property. 

After  a long  ride,  during  which  the 
squatter  had  burst  into  ecstasies  only 
known  to  landed  proprietors,  they  were 
preparing  to  return  to  their  fortress, 
when  William  pointed  out  to  his  father 
the  three  mounted  persons  coming  to- 
wards them  at  full  gallop. 

“Hum!”  Black  said,  “Indians,  that 
is  an  unpleasant  meeting  ! let  us  hide 
behind  this  clump,  and  try  to  find  out 
what  they  want.” 

“ Stay,  father,”  the  young  man  said, 
“I  believe  that  precaution  unnecessary.” 

“ Why  so,  boy  ?” 

“ Because  of  the  party  two  are  wo- 
men.” 

“ That  is  no  reason,”  the  squatter 
said,  who  since  the  attack  had  become 
excessively  prudent,  “ you  know  that 


* THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


137 


in  these  bad  tribes  the  women  fight  as 
well  as  the  men.” 

“ That  is  true ; but  stay,  they  are 
unfolding  a buffalo  robe  in  sign  of 
peace.” 

In  fact,  one  of  the  riders  at  this  mo- 
ment fluttered  a robe  in  the  breeze. 

“ You  are  right,  boy,”  the  squatter 
observed,  presently,  “let  us  await 
them,  the  more  so,  as,  if  I am  not  mis- 
taken, I can  recognise  an  old  acquaint- 
ance among  them.” 

“ The  wortian  who  saved  us,  I be- 
lieve.” 

“Right;  by  Jove,  the  meeting  is  a 
strange  one.  Poor  woman,  I am  de- 
lighted to  see  her  again.” 

Ten  minutes  later  the  party  joined  ; 
after  the  first  salutations,  the  She-wolf 
took  the  word. 

“ Do  you  recognise  me,  John  Black?” 
“ Of  course  I do,  my  worthy  woman,” 
he  replied,  with  emotion,  “ although  I 
only  saw  you  for  a few  moments,  and 
under  terrible  circumstances,  the  re- 
membrance of  you  has  never  left  my 
heart  and  mind  ; I have  only  one  wish, 
and  that  is,  that  you  will  give  me  an 
opportunity  to  prove  it.” 

A flash  of  joy  shot  from  the  She- 
wolf’s  eye. 

“ Are  you  speaking  seriously  !”  she 
asked  quickly. 

“ Try  me.” 

“Good;  lam  not  deceived  in  you. 
I am  glad  of  what  I did.  I see  that  the 
service  I rendered  you  has  not  fallen 
on  ungrateful  soil.” 

“ Speak.” 

“ Not  here  : what  I have  to  tell  you 
is  too  lengthy  and  serious  for  us  to  be 
able  to  discuss  it  properly  at  this  place.” 
“ Will  you  come  to  my  house  ? There 
you  need  not  be  afraid  of  being  dis- 
turbed.” 

“ If  you  permit  it.” 

“ What,  my  good  creature,  permit 
it  ? Why,  the  house,  all  it  contains, 
and  the  owner  in  the  bargain,  all  are 
yours,  and  you  know  it.” 

Margaret  smiled  sadly. 

“ Thanks  !”  she  said,  offering  him  her 
hand,  which  Black  pressed  gladly. 

“ Come,”  he  said,  “as  we  have  nothing 
more  to  do  here,  let  us  be  off.” 

They  started  in  the  direction  of  the 


house  ; but  the  return  was  silent ; each, 
absorbed  in  thought,  rode  on,  without 
thinking  of  addressing  a word  to  the 
other.  They  were  but  a short  distance 
from  the  house,  when  they  suddenly 
saw  some  twenty  horsemen  debouch 
from  a wood  on  the  right,  dressed,  as 
far  as  could  be  distinguished,  as  wood- 
rangers. 

“ What  is  this?”  Black  said,  with  as- 
tonishment, as  he  pulled  his  horse  up. 

“ Eh  !”  the  She-wolf  said,  not  reply- 
ing to  the  squatter.  “The  Frenchman 
has  been  diligent.” 

“ What  do  you  mean  ?” 

“ 1 will  explain  all  that  directly  ; for 
the  present,  you  need  only  offer  your 
hospitality  to  these  good  people.” 

“ Hum  !”  Black  said,  doubtingly.  “ I 
shall  be  glad  to  do  it,  but  must  know 
who  they  are,  and  what  they  want  of 
me.” 

“They  are  Americans,  like  yourself. 
I asked  the  commandant  of  the  fort 
where  they  are  stationed  to  send  them 
here.” 

“ What  fort  and  what  garrison  are 
you  talking  of,  my  good  woman  ? On 
my  soul  ! 1 do  not  know  what  you 
mean.” 

“ What ! have  you  not  learned  to 
know  your  neighbors  since  you  have 
been  here  ?” 

“ What ! have  I neighbors  !”  he  said, 
in  an  angry  tone. 

“ About  ten  miles  off  is  Fort  Mac- 
kenzie, commanded  by  a brave  officer, 
Major  Melville.” 

At  this  explanation,  the  squatter’s 
face  was  un wrinkled  ; it  was  not  a rival, 
but  a defender,  he  had  as  neighbor ; 
hence,  all  was  for  the  best. 

“ Oh,  I will  go  and  pay  him  my  re- 
spects,” he  said  : “ the  acquaintance  of 
a fort  commandant  is  not  to  be  neglect- 
ed in  the  desert.” 

Major  Melville  sent  off  at  once  the 
detachment  asked  by  his  sister ; but 
reflecting  that  soldiers  could  not  execute 
so  well  as  hunters  the  meditated  coup  de 
main , he  chose  twenty  hardened  and  re- 
solute trappers  and  engages  under  the 
command  of  an  officer  who  had  been  a 
long  time  in  the  Fur  Company’s  service, 
and  was  versed  in  all  the  tricks  of  the 
crafty  enemies  he  would  have  to  fight. 


138 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE.  * 


At  the  foot  of  the  hill  the  two  parties 
combined. 

Black,  though  still  ignorant  for  what 
purpose  the  detachment  had  come,  re- 
ceived most  affably  the  reinforcement 
sent  to  him. 

Ivon  was  radiant;  the  worthy  Bre- 
ton, now  that  he  could  dispose  of  such 
a number  of  good  rifles,  believed  in  the 
certainty  of  saving  his  master  ; all  his 
suspicions  had  disappeared,  and  he  burst 
forth  into  apologies  and  thanks  to  the 
She- wolf  and  her  two  Indian  friends. 

So  soon  as  all  were  comfortably 
lodged  in  the  building,  Black  returned 
to  his  guests,  and,  after  offering  them 
refreshments,  said, — 

“ Now,  I am  waiting  for  your  explan- 
ation.” 

As  we  shall  soon  see  the  develop- 
ment of  the  plans  formed  at  this  meet- 
ing, it  is  useless  to  describe  them. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  CAMP  OF  THE  BLACKFEET. 

Two  days  have  elapsed  since  the 
events  of  our  last  chapter. 

It  is  evening  in  the  Kenhas’  village. 
The  tumult  is  great ; all  are  preparing 
for  an  expedition.  The  night  is  clear 
and  starlit ; great  fires,  kindled  be- 
fore each  cabin,  spread  around  immense 
reddish  gleams,  which  light  up  the 
whole  village.  There  is  something 
strange  and  striking  in  the  scene  pre- 
sented by  the  village,  crowded  with  a 
motley  population. 

The  Count  de  Beaulieu  and  Brighteye, 
apparently  free,  are  conversing  in  a low 
tone,  sitting  on  the  bare  ground,  and 
leaning  against  the  wall  of  a cabin. 

The  time  fixed  by  the  Count  for  his 
parole  has  long  past,  still  the  Indian 
chiefs  have  satisfied  themselves  with 
taking  away  his  weapons  and  the  hun- 
ter’s • and  pay  no  more  attention  to 
them. 

On  the  large  village  square  two  im- 
mense fires  have  been  kindled. 

Round  the  first,  placed  in  front  of  the 
Council  Lodge,  are  seated  White  Buffa- 
lo, Natah  Otann,  Red  Wolf,  and  three 
or  four  other  chiefs  of  the  tribe. 


Round  the  second  some  twenty  war- 
riors are  silently  smoking  the  cqjumet. 

Such  was  the  appearance  offered  by 
the  Kenhas’  village  at  about  nine  in  the 
evening  of  the  day  we  return  to  it. 

“ Why  allow  the  palefaces  thus  to 
wander  about  the  village  ?”  Red  Wolf 
asked. 

Natah  Otann  smiled. 

“ Have  the  white  men  the  eyes  of  the 
eagle  and  the  feet  of  the  gazelle,  to  find 
again  their  trail  lost  in  the  desert  ?” 

“ My  father  is  right,  if  he  speaks  of 
Glasseye,”  Red  Wolf  urged;  “but 
Brighteye  has  a redskin  heart.” 

“ Yes ; if  he  was  alone,  he  would  try 
to  escape,  but  he  will  not  abandon  his 
friend.” 

“ The  latter  can  follow  him.” 

“ Glasseye  has  a brave  heart,  but  his 
feet  are  weak ; he  cannot  walk  in  the 
desert.” 

Red  Wolf  looked  down,  with  an  air 
of  conviction,  and  made  no  reply. 

“ The  hour  has  arrived  to  set  out ; 
the  allied  nations  are  proceeding  to  the 
rendezvous,”  White  Buffalo  said,  in  a 
sombre  voice.  “ It  is  nine  o’clock  ; the 
owl  has  twice  given  the  signal,  and  the 
moon  is  rising.” 

“ Good,”  Natah  Otann  said,  “ we 
will  have  the  horses  smoked,  so  as  to 
set  out  immediately  after.” 

Red  Wolf  gave  a shrill  whistle. 

At  this  signal  some  twenty  horsemen 
galloped  into  the  square,  and  went  up 
to  the  second  fire,  round  which  an  equal 
number  of  warriors,  naked  to  the  waist, 
were  crouching  and  smoking  silently. 

These  men  were  warriors  of  the  tribe 
who  were  dismounted,  either  by  acci- 
dent or  in  action  ; the  horsemen,  at  this 
moment  prancing  round  them,  were 
their  friends,  and  came  up  to  make  each 
a present  of  a horse  prior  to  the  depar- 
ture of  the  expedition. 

While  cantering  round,  the  horsemen 
gradually  neared  the  smokers,  who  did 
not  appear  to  notice  them.  Each 
horseman  chose  out  the  man  to  whom  he 
intended  to  give  a horse,  and  a shower 
of  lashes  fell  on  the  naked  shoulders  of 
these  stoical  warriors.  At  each  blow 
they  struck,  the  warrior  shouted,  each 
calling  his  friend  by  name  : 

“ So  and  so,  you  are  a beggar  and 


TIIE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


139 


wretched  man.  You  desire  my  horse, 
I give  it  to  you  ; but  you  will  bear  on 
your  shoulders  the  bloody  marks  of 
my  whip.” 

This  performance  lasted  about  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  during  which  the 
sufferers,  although  the  blood  ran  down 
their  backs,  did  not  utter  a cry  or  a 
groan;  but  remained  calm  and  motion- 
less, as  if  they  had  been  metamorpho- 
sed into  bronze  statues. 

At  length  the  Red  Wolf  gave  a 
second  whistle,  and  the  horsemen  disap- 
peared as  rapidly  as  they  came. 

The  patients  then  rose  as  if  nothing 
had  happened  to  them,  and  went  with 
radiant  forehead  and  firm  step,  each  to 
take  possession  of  a magnificent  steed, 
held  by  the  ex-scourgers,  now  become 
their  friends  once  more. 

This  is  what  the  Blackfeet  call  smok- 
ing horses . 

When  the  tumult  occasioned  by  this 
semi-serious  episode  was  appeased,  an 
hachesto,  or  public  crier,  mounted  the 
roof  of  the  council  lodge. 

All  the  population  of  the  village  was 
drawn  up  silently  on  the  square. 

“The  hour  has  struck!  The  hour 
has  struck ! The  hour  has  struck !” 
the  hachesto  cried.  “ Warriors  to  your 
lances  and  guns  ! The  horses  are  neigh- 
ing with  impatience  ! Your  chiefs  are 
awaiting  you,  and  your  enemies  sleep. 
To  arms  ! To  arms  ! To  arms  !” 

“ To  arms  !”  all  the  warriors  shouted 
simultaneously. 

Natah  Otann,  followed  by  his  war- 
riors, mounted  like  himself  on  impetu- 
ous steeds,  then  appeared  in  the  square, 
and  uttered,  in  a terrible  voice,  the  war 
yell  of  the  Blackfeet.  At  this  cry  every 
man  rushed  to  his  weapons,  mounted, 
and  ranged  under  the  respective  chiefs, 
who,  within  scarce  ten  minutes,  found 
themselves  at  the  head  of  five  hundred 
warriors,  perfectly  armed  and  equipped. 

Natah  Otann  cast  a triumphant  glance 
around  him ; his  eye  fell  immediately 
on  the  two  prisoners,  who  had  remained 
quietly  seated,  talking  together,  and 
apparently  indifferent  to  all  that  hap- 
pened. At  the  sight  of  them,  the  chief’s 
thick  eyebrows  were  r'cntracted,  he 
leaned  over  to  the  White  Buffalo,  who 
9 


rode  by  his  side,  and  muttered  a few 
words  in  his  ear. 

The  old  man  gave  a sign  of  assent, 
and  walked  towards  the  prisoners,  while 
Natah  Otann,  taking  the  hand  of  the 
war-party,  gave  the  signal  for  departure, 
and  went  off,  only  leaving  ten  warriors 
on  the  square  to  aid  White  Buffalo,  if 
required. 

“ Gentlemen,”  the  latter  said,  sharply, 
but  courteously,  “ be  good  enough  to 
mount  and  follow  me,  if  you  please.” 

“ Is  this  an  order  you  give  us,  sir  V1 
the  Count  asked  haughtily. 

“ What  does  that  question  mean  V9 
“ Because  I am  not  in  the  habit  of 
obeying  anybody.” 

“ Sir,”  the  chief  answered,  “ any  re- 
sistance would  be  insensate  and  rather 
injurious  than  useful  to  your  interests  : 
so  to  horse  without  further  delay.” 

“ The  chief  is  right,”  Brighteye  said, 
with  a significant  look  at  the  Count ; 
“ why  any  obstinacy  1 we  cannot  be  the 
stronger.” 

“ But  — ” the  young  man  remarked. 
“ Here  is  your  horse,”  the  hunter  in- 
terrupted him  sharply. 

“ We  obey  the  chief,”  he  added  aloud  ; 
then  he  added,  in  a whisper, — 

“ Are  you  mad,  Mr.  Edward  ? who 
knows  the  chances  luck  has  in  store  for 
us  during  the  accursed  expedition'?” 

“ Still—” 

“ Mount ! Mount !” 

At  length  the  young  man,  partly 
convinced,  obeyed  the  hunter.  When 
the  prisoners  had  mounted,  the  warriors 
surrounded  them,  and  led  them  off  at  a 
gallop,  till  they  caught  up  the  column, 
of  which  they  took  the  lead. 

Despite  the  Count’s  resistance,  Natah 
Otann  and  White  Buffalo  had  not  given 
up  their  plan  of  making  him  pass  for 
Moctecuzoma,  and  placing  him  at  the 
head  of  the  Allied  Nations.  Still  this 
plan  had  been  modified,  in  this  sense, 
that,  as  the  young  Count  refused  his 
help,  they  would  force  him  to  give  it  in 
spite  of  himself. 

The  following  is  the  way  in  which 
they  intended  to  act. 

They  had  succeeded  in  persuading  the 
Indians  who  accompanied  them  during 
the  ostrich  hunt,  that  the  struggle 


140 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


sustained  by  tlie  Count,  and  which  had 
struck  them  with  stupor,  owing  to  the 
energetic  resistance  the  two  men  had  so 
long  offered  to  fifty  warriors,  was  a ruse 
invented  by  them  to  display  their 
strength  and  power  in  the  sight  of  all. 

The  redskins,  owing  to  their  ignor- 
ance, are  stupidly  credulous. 

Natah  Otann’s  clumsy  falsehood, 
which  any  man  but  slightly  civilized 
would  have  regarded  with  contempt, 
obtained  the  greatest  success  with  these 
brutalized  beings,  and  enhanced,  in  their 
eyes,  the  personal  value  of  the  men 
whom  they  saw  continuing  to  live  on 
good  terms  with  their  chiefs,  and  re- 
maining apparently  free  in  the  village. 

Mat  ers  were  too  far  advanced,  the 
day  chosen  for  the  outbreak  of  the  plot 
was  too  near,  for  the  chiefs  to  give 
counter-orders  to  their  allies,  and  con- 
coct some  other  scheme  to  replace  the 
prophet  they  had  announced  to  the 
Missouri  nations. 

If,  on  arriving  at  the  rendezvous,  the 
man  they  had  expected  was  not  presen- 
ted to  them,  it  was  evident  they  would 
retire  with  their  contingents,  and  that 
ail  would  be  broken  off  with  no  hope 
of  recombination ; but  a catastrophe 
must  be  guarded  against  at  all  risks. 

The  resolution  formed  by  the  two 
chiefs,  desperate  as  it  was,  they  were 
compelled  to  adopt  through  the  suspi- 
cious nature  of  the  circumstances,  and 
they  trusted  to  chance  to  make  it  suc- 
ceed. 

The  Count  and  his  companion  would 
march,  so  long  as  the  expedition  lasted, 
at  the  head  of  the  attacking  columns, 
without  weapons  it  is  true,  but  appar- 
ently free,  while  guarded  by  ten  picked 
warriors,  w ho  would  never  leave  them, 
and  kill  them  on  the  slightest  suspicious 
gesture. 

The  plan  was  absurd,  and,  with  other 
men  than  Indians,  the  impossibility 
vould  have  been  recognized  in  less  than 
m hour  ; but,  through  its  very  imprac- 
ticability, it  offered  chances  of  success, 
and  this  was  chiefly  owing  to  the  belief 
the  Indians  held  that  the  Count  had  no 
friends  tv>  attempt  his  rescue. 

Ivon’s  flight  had  troubled  Natah 
Otann  for  a few  moments  : but  the  dis- 


| covery  made  in  the  forest,  where  he 
i had  sought  shelter,  of  the  body  of  a 
man  clothed  in  the  servant’s  dress,  and 
half-devoured  by  wild  beasts,  restored 
him  all  his  serenity  by  proving  to  him 
that  he  had  nought  to  fear  from  the 
poor  fellow’s  devotion. 

Three  hours  prior  to  the  departure 
of  the  column,  the  chief  had,  on  White 
Buffalo’s  revelations,  had  five  spies 
secretly  strangled. 

Red  Wolf,  on  whom  Natah  Otann 
and  White  Buffalo  placed  unbounded 
confidence,  and  whose  courage  could 
not  be  doubted,  was  appointed  head  of 
the  detachment  to  watch  over  the  pri- 
soners. 

Hence  matters  were  in  the  best  pos- 
sible state. 

The  two  chiefs  marched  about  fifty 
paces  ahead  of  their  warriors,  convers- 
ing in  a low  voice,  and  definitely  arrang- 
ing their  final  plans. 

White  Buffalo  described  in  a few 
words  the  position  and  their  hopes. 

“ Our  prospect  is  desperate,”  he  said, 
“ chance  may  make  it  fail  or  succeed  : 
all  depends  upon  the  first  attack.  If, 
as  1 believe,  we  surprise  the  American 
garrison,  and  seize  Fort  Mackenzie,  we 
shall  have  no  further  need  of  this 
Count,  whose  disappearance  we  can 
easily  account  for,  by  saying  that  he 
has  reascended  to  heaven,  b cause  we 
are  victors.  However,  we  shall  see ; 
all  will  be  decided  in  a few  hours.  Till 
then,  courage  and  prudence.” 

Natah  Otann  made  no  reply,  but  cast 
a glance  at  Prairie  Flower,  who  can- 
tered along  in  apparent  carelessness  on 
the  flank  of  the  column,  which  she  had 
asked  leave  to  accompany,  and  the  chief 
had  gladly  granted  it. 

The  warriors  advanced  in  a long  line, 
silently  following  one  of  those  winding 
paths  formed  on  the  desert  for  centuries 
by  the  feet  of  wild  beasts. 

The  night  was  transparent  and  calm  ; 
the  sky,  embroidered  with  millions  of 
stars,  shed  down  on  the  landscape  floods 
of  melancholy  light,  harmonizing  with 
the  grand  and  primitive  nature  of  the 
desert. 

About  four  in  the  morning,  Natah 
Otann  halted  on  the  top  of  a wooded 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


141 


dell,  in  the  centre  of  an  immense  clear- 
ing, where  the  entire  detachment  disap- 
peared, without  leaving  a trace. 

Fort  Mackenzie  rose  gloomy  and 
majestic  about  a gunshot  off. 

The  Indians  had  effected  their  march 
with  such  prudence,  that  the  American 
garrison  had  given  no  sign  of  alarm. 

Natah  Otann  had  a tent  put  up,  into 
which  he  courteously  begged  his  pri- 
soners to  enter,  and  they  obeyed. 

“Why  so  much  politeness V7  the 
Count  said. 

“ Are  you  not  my  guests  ?”  the  chief 
replied,  with  an  ironical  smile,  and  then 
withdrew. 

The  Count  and  his  comrade,  when 
left  alone,  lay  down  on  a pile  of  furs  in- 
tended for  their  bed. 

“ What  is  to  be  done  ?”  the  Count 
muttered,  greatly  discouraged. 

“ Sleep,”  the  hunter  said,  carelessly. 
“Unless  1 am  mistaken,  we  shall  soon 
have  some  news.” 

“ Heaven  grant  it !” 

“ Amen,”  Brighteye  continued,  with 
a laugh.  “ Bah  ! we  shall  not  die  this 
time  either.” 

“ I hope  so,”  the  Count  repeated,  to 
say  something. 

“ And  I am  sure  of  it.  It  would  be 
curious,  on  my  word,”  the  hunter  said, 
with  a laugh,  “ were  I,  who  have  tra- 
versed the  desert  so  long,  to  be  killed 
by  these  red  brutes.” 

The  young  man  could  not  refrain 
from  admiring,  in  his  heart,  the  cool 
certainty  with  which  the  Canadian  ut- 
tered so  monstrous  an  opinion ; but  at 
this  moment  the  prisoners  heard  a 
gentle  sound  near  them. 

“ Silence  !”  Brighteye  commanded. 

They  listened  attentively. 

A harmonious  voice  then  sang  to  a 
melody,  full  of  gentleness  and  melan- 
choly, the  exquisite  Blackfoot  song  be- 
ginning with  the  verses : 

“1  confide  to  you  my  heart,  in  the 
name  of  the  Master  of  Life ; I am  un- 
happy,  and  no  one  takes  pity  on  me,  yet 
the  Master  of  Life  is  great  in  my 
sight.” 

“ Oh  !”  the  Count  muttered,  joyous- 
ly, “ I recognize  that  voice,  my  friend.” 

“ And  1,  too,  by  Jupiter  ! It  is  Prai- 
rie Flowe-Ps.’' 


“ What  does  she  say  ?” 

“ It  is  a warning  she  gives  us.” 

“ Do  you  believe  so  ?” 

“ Prairie  Flower  loves  you,  Mr.  Ed- 
ward.” 

“Poor  child!  and  I love  her  too; 
but  alas ” 

“ Bah ! after  the  storm  comes  fine 
weather.” 

“ If  I could  but  see  her.” 

“ For  what  good  ? She  will  contrive 
to  make  herself  visible,  when  it  is  neces- 
sary. Come,  wild  or  tame,  all  women 
are  alike.  But,  look  out,  here  is  some- 
body.” 

They  threw  themselves  on  the  furs, 
and  pretended  to  be  asleep. 

A man  had  quietly  lifted  the  curtain 
of  the  tent.  By  the  moon’s  ray,  that 
passed  through  the  opening,  the  pri- 
soners recognized  Red  Wolf.  The  In- 
dian looked  outside  for  a moment ; then, 
probably  reassured  by  the  calmness  that 
prevailed  around,  he  let  the  curtain  of 
the  tent  fall,  and  took  a few  paces  in 
the  interior. 

“The  j aguar  is  strong  and  courage- 
ous,” he  said,  in  a loud  voice,  as  if  talk- 
ing to  himself;  “the  fox  is  cunning; 
but  the  man  whose  heart  is  big  is 
stronger  than  the  jaguar,  and  more  cun- 
ning than  the  fox,  when  he  has  in  his 
hand  weapons  to  defend  himself.  Who 
says  that  Glasseye  and  Brighteye  will 
allow  their  throats  to  be  cut,  like  tamed 
gazelles  ?” 

And  not  looking  at  the  prisoners,  the 
chief  laid  at  their  feet  two  guns,  from 
which  hung  powder-flasks,  bullet  bags, 
and  long  knives ; then  he  left  the  tent 
again,  as  calmly  as  if  he  had  done  the 
simplest  matter  in  the  world. 

The  prisoners  looked  at  each  other  in 
amazement. 

“What  do  you  think  of  that  ]”  Bright- 
eye muttered,  in  stupefaction. 

“ It  is  a trap,”  the  Count  answered. 

“Hum  ! trap  or  no,  the  weapons  are 
there,  and  I shall  take  them.” 

The  hunter  seized  the  guns  and  the 
knives,  which  he  immediately  hid  under 
the  furs. 

The  arms  were  hardly  in  security,  ere 
the  curtain  of  the  tent  was  again  raised, 
and  Natah  Otann  walked  in.  He  bore 
in  his  hand  a branch  of  ocotet  or  candle- 


142 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


wood,  which  lit  up  his  thoughtful  face, 
and  gave  it  a sinister  expression. 

The  chief  dug  up  the  ground  with  his 
knife,  planted  his  torch  in  the  ground, 
and  walked  toward  the  prisoners,  who 
looked  on  without  giving  any  sign. 

“ Gentlemen,”  the  chief  then  said,  “ I 
have  come  to  ask  for  a moment’s  inter- 
view with  you.” 

“Speak,  sir;  we  are  your  prisoners, 
and  as  such  compelled  to  hear  you,  if 
not  to  listen  to  you,”  the  Count  said, 
drily,  as  he  sat  up  on  the  furs,  while 
Brighteye  rose  carelessly,  and  lit  his 
pipe  at  the  candle-wood  torch. 

“ 8ince  you  ha\^  been  my  prisoners, 
gentlemen,”  the  chief  continued,  “ you 
have  not  had,  to  my  knowledge,  any 
reason  to  complain  of  the  way  in  which 
1 have  treated  you.” 

“ That  depends.  In  the  first  place,  I 
do  not  admit  that  I am  legally  your 
prisoner.” 

“ Oh,  sir,”  the  chief  said,  with  a smile 
of  mockery  ; “ do  you  speak  of  legality 
to  a poor  Indian  ? You  know  well  that 
we  are  ignorant  of  that  word.” 

“ That  is  true ; go  on.” 

“ I have  come  to  see  you ” 

“ Why  ?”  the  Count  interrupted  him, 
impatiently.  “ Explain.” 

“ I have  a bargain  to  propose  to 
you.” 

“ Well,  1 will  frankly  confess  that 
your  way  of  bargaining  does  not  im- 
press me  with  great  confidence.” 

The  Indian  made  a move. 

“ No  matter,”  the  Count  continued, 
“ let  us  hear  it.” 

“ I should  not  like  to  be  obliged,  sir, 
to  tie  you  again  as  you  were  when  you 
were  captured.” 

“ I am  extremely  obliged  to  you.” 
t “ But  at  this  moment,  I absolutely 
need  all  my  warriors,  and  I cannot  leave 
anybody  to  guard  you  two  gentlemen.” 
“Which  means'?” 

“ That  l ask  your  parole  not  to  es- 
cape for  the  next  twenty-four  hours.” 

“ But  that  is  not  a bargain.” 

“ Wait ; I am  coming  to  it.” 

“ Good  ; I am  waiting.” 

“ In  return,  I pledge  myself — ” 

“ Ah !”  the  Count  said,  contemp- 
tuously, “ let  us  see  to  what  you  pledge 
yourself ; that  must  be  curious.” 


“ 1 pledge  myself,”  the  chief  con- 
tinued, still  cold  and  calm,  “to give  you 
your  liberty  in  twenty-four  hours.” 

“ And  my  comrade?” 

The  Indian  bowed  his  head,  an  affir- 
mation. 

The  Count  burst  into  a loud  laugh. 

“ And  suppose  we  do  not  accept  ?” 
he  asked. 

“ But  you  will  do  so,”  he  said,  with 
an  ironical  smile. 

“ Possibly ; but  suppose  the  con- 
trary for  a ’moment.” 

“ At  daybreak  you  will  both  be  at- 
tached to  the  stake,  and  tortured  until 
sunset.” 

“ Oh,  oh  ! Is  that  your  final  word  ?” 
“The  last;  in  half  an  hour  I will 
come  for  your  answer.” 

And  he  turned  to  go  out. 

The  Count  bounded  like  a jaguar,  and 
stood  before  the  chief,  his  gun  in  one 
hand,  his  knife  in  the  other. 

“ A moment,”  he  shouted. 

“ Wah?”  the  chief  said,  crossing  his 
hands  on  his  wide  chest,  and  g.izing  at 
them  sarcastically.  “ You  had  taken 
your  precautions,  it  appears.” 

“By  Jove!”  Brighteye  said,  with  a 
grin  ; “ I rather  fancy  it  is  our  turn  to 
make  conditions.” 

“ Perhaps  so,”  Natah  Otann  replied, 
coolly ; “ but  I have  no  time  to  lose  in 
vain  words ; let  me  pass,  gentlemen.” 
Brighteye  threw  himself  quickly  be- 
fore the  door. 

“ Come,  chief,”  he  said,  “ things  can- 
not end  like  that ; we  are  not  old 
women  to  be  frightened.  Before  we 
are  fastened  to  the  stake,  we  will  kill 
you.” 

The  chief  shrugged  his  shoulders  dis- 

uO 

dainfully. 

“ You  are  mad  ; let  me  pass,  old- 
hunter,  and  do  not  oblige  me  to  use 
force.” 

“ No,  no,  chief,”  Brighteye  added, 
with  an  ironical  laugh  ; “ we  shall  not 
part  like  that ; all  the  worse  for  you ; 
you  should  not  have  put  your  head  in 
the  wolt’s  throat.” 

Natah  Otann  made  an  impatient  ges- 
ture. 

“ You  wish  it ; well,  then,  see  !” 
Raising  to  his  lips  his  war-whistle, 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


143 


made  of  a human  thigh  hone,  he  pro- 
duced a shrill  sound. 

All  at  once,  before  the  two  Euro- 
peans could  comprehend  what  was  hap- 
pening, the  sides  of  the  tent  were  cut 
open,  and  the  Blackfeet  bounded  into 
the  interior.  The  Count  and  Brighteye 
were  seized  and  disarmed. 

The  sachem,  with  his  arms  still 
crossed  on  his  chest,  looked  like  a stoic, 
while  the  Kenhas,  with  their  eyes  fixed 
on  the  chief,  and  uplifted  tomahawks, 
seemed  to  await  from  him  a final  sig- 
nal. 

There  was  a moment  of  intense  anx- 
iety ; though  the  two  white  men  were 
so  brave,  the  attack  had  been  so  rapid 
and  unexpected,  that  they  could  not  re- 
frain from  an  inward  shudder. 

For  a few  seconds  the  chief  enjoyed 
his  triumph;  then,  raising  his  hand, 
with  a gesture  of  supreme  authority, 
he  said, — 

“ Enough  ! Restore  their  weapons 
to  those  warriors.  Are  they  not  the 
guests  of  Natah  Otann  ?” 

The  Blackfeet  retired  as  suddenly  as 
they  had  appeared. 

“Well,”  the  chief  asked,  with  slight 
irony,  “ do  you  understand  me  at  last  1 
Do  you  still  fancy  me  in  your  power 
“Very  good,  sir,”  the  Count  replied, 
coldly,  still  suffering  from  the  struggle 
he  had  gone  through  ; “ I am  forced  to 
recognize  the  advantage  that  chance 
gives  you  over  me  ; any  resistance 
would  be  useless.  I consent  to  submit 
for  the  present  to  your  will ; but  only 
on  two  conditions.” 

“ They  are  accepted  beforehand,  sir,” 
Natah  Otann  said,  with  a bow. 

“ Do  not  be  too  certain,  sir  ; for  you 
do  not  yet  know  what  I mean  to  ask 
from  you.” 

“ I am  awaiting  your  explanation.” 

“ As  it  must  be  so,  I will  march  at 
the  head  of  your  tribes ; but  alone,  un- 
armed, and  on  condition,  that  under  no 
pretext  you  impose  on  me  any  other 
character  in  the  gloomy  tragedy  you  are 
preparing  to  act.” 

The  chief  frowned. 


“ And  supposing  that  I refuse,”  he 
said,  in  a hoarse  voice. 

“ If  you  refuse,”  the  young  man  an- 
swered, with  his  calmest  air,  “ I will 
employ  sure  means  to  compel  you  to 
assent.” 

“ They  are  ?** 

“ I will  blow  out  my  brains,  sir,  in 
the  presence  of  all  your  warriors.”  • 
The  chief  cast  a viper’s  glance  at 
him. 

“ Very  good,”  he  said,  presently.  “ I 
accept.  Now  let  us  have  the  other  con- 
dition.” 

“ It  is  simply  this  : conqueror  or  con- 
quered— and  I hope  sincerely  that  the 

latter  may  be  the  case ” 

“ Thank  you,”  the  chief  interrupted 
him,  with  an  ironical  bow. 

“ After  the  battle,  whatever  its  issue 
may  be,”  the  Count  continued,  “ you 
will  fight  me  honorably  with  equal 
weapons.” 

“ Why,  Sir  Count,  you  are  proposing 
to  me  what  white  men  call  a duel  !” 
“Yes.  Does  that  displease  you  1” 

“ Me  ? certainly  not,  and  I accept 
gladly ; the  more  so,  as  we  Blood  Indi- 
ans are  accustomed  to  have  such  fights 
to  settle  our  own  personal  quarrels.” 

“ Then  you  accept  my  conditions  ?” 

“ I do  so.” 

“ But  who  will  guarantee  your  good 
faith  1”  the  young  man  asked. 

“ 1,  sir,”  a powerful  voice  said. 

The  three  men  turned. 

White  Buffalo  was  standing  motion- 
less in  the  doorway  of  the  tent. 

At  the  unexpected  appearance  of  this 
strange  man,  whose  features  revealed  at 
the  moment  an  imposing  majesty,  the 
young  Count  felt  subdued,  and  bowed 
respectfully. 

“ Gentlemen,”  Natah  Otann  continued, 
“ you  are  free  within  the  limits  of  the 
camp.” 

“Thanks,”  Brighteye  said,  coarsely; 
“ but  I have  made  no  promise.” 

“You!”  the  chief  said,  carelessly, 
“ go  or  stay  ; I care  very  little.” 

And  after  bowing  ceremoniously  to 
the  Count,  the  two  chiefs  withdrew. 


144 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

BEFORE  THE  ATTACK. 

After  leaving  his  tent,  the  two  chiefs 
walked  for  some  moments  side  by  side, 
and  did  not  exchange  a word ; both 
seemed  plunged  in  deep  thought,  doubt- 
lessly caused  by  the  serious  events  that 
were  preparing — events  whose  success 
would  decide  the  fate  of  the  Indian  tribes 
on  this  part  of  the  continent. 

While  walking  along,  they  reached  a 
point  on  the  hillock,  whence  a most  ex- 
tensive view  could  be  enjoyed  in  every 
direction. 

The  night  was  calm  and  balmy,  there 
was  not  a breath  in  the  air,  not  a cloud 
on  the  sky,  whose  deep  azure  was 
enamelled  with  a profusion  of  twinkling 
stars  ; an  imposing  silence  reigned  over 
this  desert,  where,  however,  several 
thousand  men  were  ambushed,  only 
waiting  a word  or  a signal  to  cut  each 
other’s  throats. 

Mechanically  the  two  men  stopped, 
and  gazed  at  the  grand  landscape  ex- 
tended at  their  feet,  in  the  immediate 
foreground  of  which  frowned  Fort 
Mackenzie,  throwing  its  gloomy  shadow 
far  across  the  prairie. 

“ By  sunrise,”  Natah  Otann  mutter- 
ed, answering  his  own  thoughts,  rather 
than  addressing  his  companions,  “ that 
haughty  fortress  will  be  mine.  The 
redskins  will  command  at  the  spot 
where  their  oppressors  are  still  reign- 
ing.” 

“ Yes  White  Buffalo  repeated,  me- 
chanically, “ to-morrow  you  will  be 
master  of  the  fort,  but  will  you  manage 
to  keep  it  ] Conquering  is  nothing  ; 
the  white  men  have  been  several  times 
defeated  by  the  redskins,  and  yet  they 
have  enslaved,  decimated,  and  dispersed 
them  like  the  leaves  the  autumn  breeze 
bears  away.” 

“ That  is  only  too  true,”  the  chief 
said,  with  a sigh  ; “ it  has  ever  been  so, 
since  the  first  day  the  white  men  set 
foot  in  this  unhappy  land.  What  is  the 
mysterious  influence  that  has  constantly 
protected  them  against  us  ?” 

“ Yourselves,  my  child,”  White  Buf- 
falo  said,  mournfully  shaking  his  head  ; 
“ you  arc  your  own  greatest  enemies. 


You  can  only  impute  to  yourselves  your 
continued  defeats,  for  you  are  so  obsti- 
nate for  internecine  warfare  ; the  whites 
have  taken  care  to  foster  strongly  your 
headstrong  passions,  by  which  they  have 
skillfully  profited  to  conquer  yon  in 
detail.” 

Yes,  you  have  told  me  that  often, 
my  father,  so  you  see  1 have  profited  by 
your  advice ; all  the  Missouri  Indians 
are  now  united,  they  obey  the  same 
chief  and  march  under  one  totem  ; thus, 
believe  me,  this  union  will  be  fertile  in 
good  results,  we  shall  drive  these  plun- 
dering wolves  from  our  frontiers,  we  shall 
send  them  back  to  the  village  of  stone ; 
and  henceforth  only  the  mocassin  of  the 
redskin  will  tread  our  native  prairies, 
and  the  echoes  will  only  be  aroused  by 
the  joyous  laughter  of  the  redskins,  or 
repeat  the  war  cry  of  the  Blackfeet.” 

“ No  one  will  be  happier  than  I at 
at  such  a result  ; my  most  ardent  de- 
sire is  to  see  the  men  free  from  whom  I 
have  received  such  paternal  hospitality  ; 
but  alas,  who  can  foresee  the  future] 
The  Sachems  whom  you  have  succeeded 
in  combining  by  attention  and  patience, 
are  agitating  darkly  : they  fear  to  obey 
you ; they  are  jealous  of  the  power 
themselves  gave  you,  so  there  is  a chance 
they  will  abandon  you.” 

“ I will  not  give  them  the  time,  my 
father ; for  the  last  few  days  I have 
known  all  their  designs,  and  followed 
their  plans ; up  to  the  present,  prudence 
has  closed  my  mouth.  I did  not  wish 
to  risk  the  success  of  my  enterprise ; 
but  so  soon  as  I am  master  of  this  for- 
tress below  us,  believe  me,  I shall  speak 
loudly,  for  my  voice  will  have  exercis- 
ed an  authority,  my  power  a strength, 
which  the  most  turbuleut  will  be  com- 
pelled to  recognize.  Victory  will  ren- 
der me  great  and  terrible  ; will  trample 
under  foot  those  who  now  conspire  in 
the  darkness,  and  who  would  not  hesi- 
tate to  turn  against  me,  if  I experienced 
a defeat.  Go,  my  father,  let  all  be 
ready  for  the  attack  so  soon  as  I give 
the  signal,  visit  the  outposts,  watch  the 
movements  of  the  enemy,  for  in  two 
hours  I shall  utter  my  war-cry.” 

White  Buffalo  regarded  him  for  a 
moment  with  a singular  expression,  in 
which  friendship,  fear  and  admiration 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


145 


struggled  in  turn  ; then  laying  his  hand 
on  his  shoulder,  he  said,  with  much  emo- 
tion : 

“Child,  you  are  mad  ; but  it  is  a sub- 
lime madness  : the  work  of  reformation 
you  meditate  is  impossible — but,  wheth- 
er you  triumph  or  succumb,  your  at- 
tempt will  not  be  useless.  Your  pas- 
sage on  earth  will  leave  a long,  lumi- 
nous trace,  whi<  h may  one  day  serve 
as  a beacon  to  those  who  succeed  in  ac- 
complishing the  liberation  of  your 
race.” 

After  a few  seconds  of  silence,  more 
eloquent  than  vain  words,  the  two  men 
fell  into  each  other’s  arms,  and  held 
each  other  in  a firm  embrace;  they 
then  separated. 

Natah  Otann  remained  alone. 

The  young  chief  did  not  conceal  from 
himself,  in  any  way,  the  difficulties  of 
his  position.  He  recognized  the  justice 
of  his  adopted  father’s  observations ; 
but  now  it  was  too  late  to  recoil,  he 
must  push  onward  at  all  risks. 

Now  that  the  moment  had  arrived  to 
descend  into  the  arena,  all  hesitation  had 
ceased,  all  fear  had  died  out  in  the 
young  chief's  bosom,  to  give  way  to  a 
cold  and  invincible  resolution,  that  im- 
parted to  him  the  lucidity  of  mind  re- 
quired, to  play  skilfully  the  great  part 
on  which  the  fate  of  his  race  would 
depend. 

When  White  Buffalo  left  him  alone, 
Natah  Otann  sat  down  on  a rock,  and, 
resting  his  head  on  his  hands,  fixed  his 
eyes  on  the  place,  and  fell  into  a seri- 
ous contemplation. 

For  a long  time  he  had  been  dream- 
ing, with  a vague  consciousness  of  ex- 
ternal objects,  when  a hand  was  gently 
laid  on  his  shoulder. 

The  chief  quivered,  as  if  he  had  re- 
ceived an  electric  shock,  and  quickly 
raised  his  head. 

“ Ochtl  ?”  he  said  with  an  emotion  he 
could  not  master,  “ Prairie  Flower  here 
at  this  hour  ?” 

The  young  girl  smiled  sweetly. 

“ Why  is  my  brother  astonished  ?” 
she  replied,  in  her  gentle  and  melodious 
voice,  “ does  not  the  chief  know  that 
Prairie  Flower  loves  to  wander  about 
at  night,  when  nature  is  slumbering, 
and  the  voice  of  the  Great  Spirit  can  be 


more  easily  heard  ; we  girls  love  to 
dream  at  night,  by  the  melancholy 
light  that  comes  from  the  stars,  and 
seems  to  give  reality  to  our  thoughts, 
at  times,  in  the  mist.” 

The  chief  sighed  in  reply. 

“You  are  suffering  ?”  Prairie  Flower 
asked  him,  gently,  “ you  the  first 
Sachem  of  our  nation,  the  most  renown- 
ed warrior  of  our  tribes — what  reason 
can  be  powerful  enough  to  draw  a sigh 
from  you1?” 

The  chief  seized  the  dainty  hand  the 
girl  yielded  to  him,  and  pressed  it  gent- 
ly between  his  own. 

“ Prairie  Flower,”  he  said  at  length, 
“ You  are  ignorant  why  I suffer  when  1 
am  by  your  side  V1 

“How  should  I know  it?  Although 
my  brothers  call  me  the  “ Virgin  of 
Sweet  Love,”  and  suppose  me  to  be  in 
relation  with  the  spirits  of  air  and 
water,  alas ! 1 am  only  an  ignorant 

young  girl.  I should  like  to  know  the 
cause  of  your  grief ; perhaps  I could 
succeed  in  curing  you.” 

“ No,”  the  chief  answered,  shaking 
his  head,  “ it  is  not  in  your  power, 
child  ; to  do  that  the  beating  of  your 
heart  ought  to  respond  to  mine,  and  the 
little  bird,  which  sings  so  melodiously 
in  the  hearts  of  maidens,  and  murmurs 
such  gentle  words  in  their  ears,  should 
have  flown  near  you.” 

The  girl  blushed  and  smiled  ; she  let 
her  eyes  fall,  and,  making  an  effort  to 
disengage  her  hand,  which  Natah  Otann 
still  held  in  his: 

“ The  little  bird  of  which  my  brother 
speaks,  I have  seen  ; its  song  has  alrea- 
dy been  chanted  near  me.’’ 

The  chief  sprung  up,  and  fixed  a flash- 
ing glance  on  the  maiden. 

“ What !”  he  exclaimed  with  agita- 
tion, “you  love?  Has  one  of  the 
young  warriors  of  our  tribe  known  how 
to  touch  your  heart,  and  fill  it  with 
love  ?” 

Prairie  Flower  shook  her  charming 
head  petulantly,  while  a sweet  smile 
parted  her  coral  lips. 

“ I know  not  if  what  I experience  is 
what  you  call  love,”  she  said. 

Natah  Otann  had  by  a painful  effort, 
checked  the  emotion,  which  made  his 
limbs  tremble. 


146 


TIIE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


“Why  should  it  not  be  so1?”  he  con- 
tinued, thoughtfully.  “ The  laws  of  na- 
ture are  immutable ; no  one  can  pre- 
vent it ; the  child’s  hour  was  destined 
to  arrive.  By  what  right  can  I quarrel 
with  what  has  happened  ? Have  I not 
in  my  heart  a sacred  feeling,  which  fills 
it,  and  before  which  every  other  must 
be  extinguished  ? A man  in  my  posi- 
tion is  too  far  above  vulgar  passions  ; 
the  object  he  proposes  to  himself  is  too 
great  for  him  to  allow  himself  to  be 
ruled  by  love  of  a woman.  The  man 
who  lays  claim  to  become  the  saviour 
and  regenerator  of  a people  no  longer 
belongs  to  humanity.  Let  me  be  wor- 
thy of  the  task  I have  taken  on  myself, 
and  forget,  if  possible,  the  mad  and 
hopeless  passion  that  devours  me.  That 
girl  can  never  be  mine  ; everything 
seperates  us.  1 will  be  to  her  what  1 
ought  never  to  have  ceased  to  be — a 
father  !” 

He  let  his  head  hang  despairingly  on 
his  chest,  and  remained  for  a few 
moments  absorbed  in  gloomy  medita- 
tion. 

Prairie  Flower  regarded  him  with  an 
expression  of  tender  pity  ; she  had  only 
imperfectly  caught  the  words  the  chief 
muttered,  and  understood  but  little  of 
them.  Still  she  felt  a deep  friendship 
for  him  ; she  suffered  in  seeing  him, 
and  sought  vainly  some  consolation  to 
afford.  She  waited  anxiously  till  he 
should  remember  her  presence  and 
speak  to  her  again. 

At  length  he  raised  his  head. 

“ My  sister  has  not  told  me  which  of 
our  young  warriors  she  prefers  to  all 
the  rest.” 

“ Has  not  the  Sachem  guessed  it  V ’ 
she  asked,  timidly. 

“ Natah  Otann  is  a chief.  If  he  is 
the  father  of  his  warriors,  he  is  no  spy 
on  their  deeds  or  thoughts.” 

“ The  man  of  whom  I speak  to  my 
brother  is  not  a Kenha  warrior,”  she 
continued. 

“Ah  1”  he  said  in  surprise,  and  look- 
ing scrutimzingly  at  her.  “ Can  it  be 
one  of  the  palefaces  who  are  Natah 
Otann’s  guests  ?” 

“ My  brother  would  say  his  pri- 
soners,” she  murmured. 

“ W hat  mean  these  words,  girl  ? 


Have  you,  born  but  yesterday,  any 
right  to  try  and  explain  my  actions  ? 
Ah  !”  he  added,  with  a frown,  “now  I 
understand  how  the  pale-faced  chiefs 
had  weapons  when  I visited  them  an 
hour  ago.  It  is  useless  for  my  daugh- 
ter to  tell  me  now  the  name  of  him  she 
loves,  for  I know  it.” 

The  girl  hung  her  head,  with  a blush. 

“ Achseit — it  is  good,”  he  continued 
in  a rough  voice,  “ my  sister  is  free  to 
place  her  affections  where  she  pleases  ; 
but  her  love  must  not  lead  her  to  be- 
tray her  friends  for  the  palefaces.  She 
is  a daughter  of  the  Kenhas.  Was  it 
to  give  me  this  news  that  Prairie  Flow- 
er came  to  me ?” 

“No,”  she  answered,  timidly  ; “an- 
other person  ordered  me  to  come  here, 
where  she  will  also  come  herself,  as  she 
has  an  important  secret  to  reveal  to  me 
in  the  presence  of  the  Sachem.” 

“ An  important  secret?”  Natah  Otann 
repeated.  “ What  do  you  mean  ? Of 
what  woman  is  my  sister  speaking?” 

“ I am  speaking  of  her  who  is  called 
the  She-wolf  of  the  prairies  ; she  has 
ever  been  gentle,  good  and  affectionate 
to  me,  in  spite  of  the  hatred  she  bears 
to  the  Indians.” 

“ That  is  strange,”  the  chief  muttered. 
“ So  vou  are  waiting  for  her  ?” 

“Tam.” 

“ But  that  woman  is  mad,”  the  chief 
exclaimed.  “ Do  you  not  know  it,  my 
poor  child  !” 

“ Those  whom  the  Great  Spirit  wish- 
es to  protect  he  deprives  of  reason,  that 
they  may  not  feel  grief,”  she  replied, 
softly. 

For  some  minutes  an  almost  imper- 
ceptible rustling  had  been  going  on  in 
the  bushes  ; this  sound,  though  so 
slight,  the  chief’s  practised  ear  would 
have  detected,  had  he  not  been  entirely 
absorbed  by  his  conversation  with  the 
girl. 

All  at  once  the  branches  were  violent- 
ly torn  asunder. 

Several  men,  led  by  the  She-wolf  of 
the  Prairies,  rushed  towards  the  chief, 
and,  before  he  had  recovered  from  the 
surprise  caused  by  this  sudden  attack, 
he  was  thrown  down,  and  securely  pin- 
ioned. 

I “ The  mad  woman  !”  he  exclaimed. 


THE  FLOWER  OF  TIIE  PRAIRIE. 


147 


“ Yes,  yes,  the  mad  woman,”  she  re- 
peated, in  a hoarse  voice.  “ At  length 
I hold  my  vengeance  ! Thanks,”  she 
added,  addressing  the  three  men  who  ac- 
companied her  ; “ 1 will  now  take  his 
guard  on  myself,  he  shall  not  escape 
me.” 

The  men  withdrew  without  replying. 
Although  they  wore  the  Indian  dress,  a 
panther  skin  drawn  over  their  faces  ren 
dered  them  perfectly  secure  from  de- 
tection. 

Only  three  persons  remained  on  the 
top  of  the  hill : Prairie  Flower,  Marga- 
ret, and  Natah  Otann,  who  tried  to 
break  his  bonds,  while  uttering  hoarse 
and  inarticulate  sounds. 

The  She-wolf  surveyed  her  enemy, 
prostrated  at  her  feet,  with  a joy  impos- 
sible to  describe,  while  Prairie  Flower, 
standing  motionless  by  the  chief,  gazed 
on  him  sorrowfully  and  thoughtfully. 

“ Yes,”  the  She-wolf  said,  with  a 
glance  of  satiated  vengeance,  “howl, 
panther  ; bend  the  bonds  you  cannot 
break.  I hold  you  at  last  ; it  is  my 
turn  to  torture  you,  to  repay  you  all 
the  suffering  you  lavished  on  me.  Oh  ! 
1 can  never  be  sufficiently  avenged  on 
you,  the  assassin  of  my  whole  family. 
God  is  just  : tooth  for  tooth,  eye  for 
eye,  wretch  !” 

She  picked  up  a dagger  which  had 
fallen  on  the  ground  near  her,  and  be- 
gan to  prick  him  all  over. 

“ Answer  me — do  you  not  feel  the 
cold  steel  piercing  your  flesh  V’  she  ask- 
ed him.  “ Oh  ! 1 should  like  to  make 
you  suffer  death  a thousand  times,  were 
it  possible.” 

A smile  of  contempt  played  over  the 
chief  s lips. 

The  She-wolf,  exasperated,  raised  the 
dagger  to  strike  him  ; but  Prairie 
Flower  held  her  arm. 

Margaret  turned  like  a tiger  ; but, 
recognizing  the  girl,  she  let  the  weapon 
drop  from  her  trembling  hand,  and  her 
face  assumed  an  expression  of  infinite 
gentleness  and  tenderness. 

“ You  here  ?”  she  exclaimed.  “ Then 
you  did  not  forget  the  meeting  I ar- 
ranged with  you  I It  is  Heaven  that 
sends  you  !” 

“ Yes,”  the  young  girl  replied,  “ the 


Great  Spirit  sees  all.  My  mother  is 
good  ; Prairie  Flower  loves  her.  Why 
thus  torture  the  man  who  acted  as  fa- 
ther to  the  abandoned  child  ? The  chief 
has  ever  been  kind  to  Prairie  Flower  : 
my  mother  will  pardon  him.” 

Margaret  gazed  at  the  girl  with  an 
expression  of  mad  stupor ; then  her 
features  were  suddenly  distorted,  and 
she  burst  into  a strident  laugh. 

“What  !”  she  exclaimed,  with  a pier- 
cing voice,  “ you,  Prairie  Flower,  inter- 
cede for  this  man  ?” 

“ He  was  a father  to  Prairie  Flower,” 
the  girl  answered,  simply. 

“ But  you  do  not  know  him,  then  V1 
“ He  has  been  kind  to  me.” 

“ Silence,  child  ! do  not  implore  the 
She-wolf,”  the  chief  said,  in  a gloomy 
voice.  “ Natah  Otann  is  a warrior ; he 
knows  how  to  die.” 

“ No,  the  chief  must  not  die,”  the  In- 
dian girl  said,  resolutely. 

Natah  Otann  laughed. 

“ It  is  I who  am  avenged,”  he  said. 

“ Dog  !”  the  She-wolf  yelled,  stamp- 
ing her  heel  on  his  face,  “ silence  ! or  I 
will  tear  out  your  viper’s  tongue.” 

The  Indian  smiled  with  contempt. 

“ My  mother  will  allow  me,”  the 
girl  said  ; “ I will  unfasten  the  chief,  in 
order  that  he  may  rejoin  his  warriors, 
who  are  about  to  fight.” 

She  picked  up  the  dagger,  and  knelt 
down  near  the  prisoner,  to  sever  his 
bonds. 

But  the  She-wolf  checked  her. 

“ Before  cutting  the  thongs,  listen  to 
me,  child,”  she  said. 

“Afterwards,”  the  girl  objected.  “ A 
chief  must  be  with  his  warriors  in  bat- 
tle.” 

“ Listen  to  me  for  a few  minutes,” 
She-wolf  continued,  earnestly,  “ I im- 
plore it  of  you,  Prairie  Flower,  by  all 
I may  have  done  for  you  ; then,  when 
I have  ceased  speaking,  if  you  still  wish 
it,  you  shall  deliver  that  man.  I swear 
to  you  that  I will  not  prevent  it.” 

The  girl  looked  at  her  fixedly. 

“ Speak,”  she  said,  in  her  gentle  and 
sympathizing  voice.  “ Prairie  Flower 
is  listening.” 

A sigh  of  relief  escaped  from  the 
She-wolf’s  oppressed  chest. 


148 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


There  was  a moment’s  silence  ; no- 
thing could  be  heard,  save  the  panting 
of  the  prisoner. 

“ You  are  right,  girl,”  the  S!ie-wolf  at 
length  said,  in  a mournful  voice,  “ that 
man  took  care  of  your  infancy,  was 
kind  to  you,  and  brought  you  up  ten- 
derly ; you  see  that  I do  him  justice  ! 
But  he  never  told  you  how  you  fell  in- 
to his  hands.” 

“ Never,”  the  maiden  said,  in  a mel- 
ancholy voice. 

“ Well,”  the  She- wolf  continued, 
“ that  secret,  which  he  has  not  dared  to 
reveal  to  you,  1 will  tell  you.  On  just 
such  a night  as  this,  at  the  head  of  his 
warriors,  the  man  you  call  your  father 
attacked  your  real  father,  and  while 
your  two  brothers,  by  that  monster’s 
orders,  were  burned  alive,  your  father 
was  fastened  to  a tree,  and  there  flayed 
alive.” 

“ Horror  !”  the  young  girl  shrieked, 
as  she  sprang  up. 

“ And  if  you  do  not  believe  me,”  she 
continued,  in  a shrill  voice,  “ tear  from 
your  neck  that  bag  made  of  your  un- 
unhappy  father’s  skin,  and  you  will 
find  in  it  all  that  remains  of  him.” 

With  a feverish  movement  the  young 
girl  drew  out  the  bag,  which  she  squeez- 
ed convulsively. 

“ Oh  !”  she  exclaimed,  “ no,  no  ! it  is 
impossible  ; such  atrocities  could  not 
be  committed.” 

Suddenly  her  tears  ceased,  she  look- 
ed fixedly  at  the  She-wolf,  and  said,  in  a 
harsh  voice  : 

“ How  do  you  know  all  this  ? The 
man  who  told  it  you  lied.” 

“ I was  present,”  the  She-wolf  said, 
coldly. 

“ You  were  present?  You  witnessed 
this  horrible  scene  ?” 

“ Yes,  I did.” 

“ Why  ?”  she  asked  madly.  “An- 
swer, why  ?” 

“ Why  ?”  she  said,  with  an  accent  of 
supreme  majesty  ; “ because  I am  your 
mother,  child  ?” 

At  this  unexpected  revelation,  the 
girl’s  features  were  convulsed,  her  voice 
failed  her,  her  eyes  seemed  ready  to 
start  from  their  sockets,  her  body  was 
agitated  by  a convulsive  tremor;  fori 


an  instant  she  tried  to  utter  a shriek, 
but  then  suddenly  broke  into  sobs,  and 
fell  iii to  Margaret’s  arms,  exclaiming, 
with  a piercing  accent  : 

“ My  mother  ! my  mother  !” 

“ At  last,”  the  She-wolf  said  delirious 
ly,  “ 1 have  found  you  again,  and  you 
are  really  mine.” 

For  some  moments,  mother  and 
daughter,  yielding  to  their  tenderness, 
forgot  the  whole  world. 

Natah  Otann  tried  to  profit  by  the 
opportunity,  and  seize  the  chance  of 
safety  which  accident  offered  him.  He 
noiselessly  began  rolling  over  to  gain 
the  top  of  the  enclosure. 

But  the  young  girl  suddenly  noticed 
him,  and  sprang  up  as  if  a serpent  had 
stung  her. 

“ Stop,  Natah  Otann !”  she  said  to 
him. 

The  chief  remained  motionless  ; he 
imagined  from  the  girl’s  accent  that  he 
was  lost,  and  he  resigned  himself  to  his 
fate  with  that  fatalism  which  forms  the 
base  of  the  Iiid  an  character. 

Still  he  was  mistaken. 

Prairie  Flower,  with  burning  face 
and  pallid  brow,  turned  a haggard 
glance  from  her  mother  to  the  man  ex- 
tended at  her  feet,  asking  her  heart  if  she 
had  a right,  after  all  the  kindness  he 
had  shown  her,  to  avenge  her  father’s 
death  upon  him.  She  felt  that  her  arm 
was  too  weak,  her  heart  too  tender  for 
such  a deed. 

For  several  seconds  the  three  actors 
of  this  terrible  scene  remained  plunged 
in  a gloomy  silence,  which  was  only  in- 
terrupted by  the  dull  and  mysterious 
noises  of  the  night. 

Natah  Otann  did  not  fear  death;  but 
he  trembled  at  leaving  uncompleted  the 
glorious  task  he  had  taken  on  himself; 
he  was  ashamed  at  having  fallen  into  so 
clumsy  a snare  set  by  a half  insane  wo- 
man. With  his  head  stretched  out  and 
frowning  brow  he  anxiously  read  on  the 
girl’s  face  the  feelings  in  turn  reflected 
on  it  as  in  a mirror,  in  order  to  calcu- 
late the  chances  of  saving  a life  so  pre- 
cious to  those  he  wished  to  render  free. 
Though  resigned  to  his  fate,  like  all 
great  men,  he  did  not  despair,  but  strug- 
I gled  to  the  last  moment. 


THE  FLOWER  OF  TIIE  PRAIRIE. 


149 


Prairie  Flower  at  length  raised  her 
head  ; her  lovely  Lice  had  assumed  a 
strange  expression,  her  brow  glistened, 
her  gentle  blue  eyes  seemed  to  flash 
forth  flames. 

“ Mother,”  she  said  in  her  melodious 
voice,  “ give  me  those  pistols  you  have 
in  your  hand.” 

“ What  will  you  do  with  them  ?”  the 
She-wolf  asked. 

“Avenge  my  father?  Was  it  not 
for  that  you  summoned  me  here  ?” 

Without  replying,  the  She-wolf  gave 
her  the  weapons. 

The  girl  at  first  threatened  Natah 
Otann,  but  then,  with  a gesture,  as 
rapid  as  thought,  threw  them  down  the 
hill. 

“ Unhappy  girl,”  Margaret  yelled, 
“ what  have  you  done?” 

“ I avenge  my  father,”  she  answered, 
with  an  accent  of  supreme  dignity. 

“ Unhappy  child,  he  is  the  assassin  of 
your  father  !” 

“ I know  it ; you  have  told  me  so. 
This  man,  in  spite  of  his  crimes,  has 
been  kind  to  me — he  watched  over  my 
childhood.  Although  he  obeyed  the 
feeling  of  hatred  his  race  entertains  for 
the  palefaces  by  murdering  my  father, 
he  took  his  place  with  me  as  far  as  was 
possible,  and  almost  changed  his  Indian 
nature  to  protect  and  support  me.  The 
Great  Spirit  will  judge  us,  He  whose 
eye  is  eternally  fixed  on  earth.” 

“Woe  is  me!  Woe  is  me!”  the 
She-wolf  yelled,  wringing  her  hands  in 
despair. 

The  girl  bent  over  the  chief  and  cut 
the  bonds  that  fettered  him. 

Natah  Otann  sprang  to  his  feet  with 
the  bound  of  a jaguar. 

The  She-wolf  made  a movement,  as 
if  to  rush  upon  him,  but  she  checked 
herself 

“ All  is  not  over  yet,”  she  shrieked, 
“ yes ! yes  ! I will  have  my  revenge,  no 
matter  at  what  cost.” 

And  she  rushed  into  the  thicket, 
where  she  disappeared. 

“Natah  Otann,”  the  maiden  contin- 
ued, turning  to  the  chief,  who  stood  by 
her  side,  calmly  and  stoically,  as  if 
nothing  extraordinary  had  happened,  “1 
leave  vengeance  to  the  Great  Spirit — a 


woman  can  only  weep,  farewell  ! I 
loved  you  as  the  father  you  deprived 
me  of.  I do  not  feel  the  strength  to 
hate  you,  I will  try  to  forget  you.” 

“ Poor  child,”  the  sachem  replied, 
with  much  emotion,  “ 1 must  appear  to 
you  very  culpable.  Alas  ! it  is  only 
to-day  that  l understand  the  atrocity  of 
the  deed  of  which  I allowed  myself  to 
be  guilty  ; perhaps,  I may  succeed  one 
day  in  obtaining  your  pardon.” 

Prairie  Flower  smiled  sorrowfully. 

“ Your  pardon  does  not  depend  from 
me,”  she  said,  “ Wacondah  alone  can 
absolve  you.” 

And,  after  giving  him  a parting 
glance  of  sadness,  she  withdrew  slowly, 
and  thoughtfully  entered  the  wood. 

Natah  Otann  looked  after  her  for  a 
long  while. 

“ C n the  Christians  be  right,”  he 
muttered,  when  alone  ; “ do  angels  real- 
ly exist  ?” 

He  shook  his  head  several  times, 
and,  after  attentively  looking  at  the 
sky,  in  which  the  stars  were  beginning 
to  shine  : 

“ The  hour  has  arrived,”  he  said, 
hoarsely  ; “ shall  1 be  the  victor  V 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

RED  WOLF. 

To  understand  the  facts  we  are  now 
about  to  narrate,  we  must  retrace  our 
steps  a short  distance,  and  return  to  the 
tent,  which  served  as  a temporary  abode 
to  the  Count  and  Brighteye. 

The  two  white  men  were  somewhat 
discontented  by  the  way  in  which  the 
interview  had  terminated. 

Still  the  Count  was  too  thorough  a 
gentleman  not  to  allow,  honorably,  that 
on  this  occasion  the  chief  had  been  the 
victor  in  magnanimity. 

As  for  poor  Brighteye,  however,  he 
could  not  see  so  far.  Furious  at  the 
check  he  had  sustained,  and  especially 
at  the  slight  value  the  chief  appeared 
to  set  on  his  capture,  he  revolved  the 
most  terrible  schemes  of  vengeance 
while  biting  his  nails  savagely. 


150 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRATRIE. 


The  Count  amused  himself  for  a few 
minutes  in  watching  his  comrade’s 
manoeuvres,  as  he  walked  up  and  down 
the  tent,  growling,  clenching  his  fists, 
dashing  the  butt  of  his  rifle  on  the 
ground,  and  looking  up  to  heaven  with 
comic  despair.  At  last  the  young  man 
could  stand  it  no  longer,  but  burst  into 
a hearty  laugh. 

The  hunter  stopped  in  amazement, 
and  looked  around  the  tent,  to  discover 
the  cause  for  such  untimely  gaiety. 

“ What  has  happened,  Mr.  Edward  ?” 
he  at  length  asked,  “ why  do  you  laugh 
so  ?” 

Naturally  this  question,  asked  with  a 
startled  air,  had  no  other  result  than  to 
augment  the  Count’s  hilarity. 

“ My  good  fellow,”  he  said,  “ I am 
laughing  at  the  singular  faces  you  cut, 
and  the  strange  manoeuvres  you  have 
been  indulging  in  during  the  last  twenty 
minutes.” 

“ Oh,  Mr.  Edward  !”  Brighteye  said, 
reproachfully  ; “ how  can  you  jest  so?” 
“ Why,  my  boy,  you  seem  to  take 
the  affair  seriously  to  heart,  and  to  have 
lost  that  magnificent  confidence  which 
made  you  despise  all  dangers.” 

“ No,  no,  Mr  Edward  ! you  are  mis- 
taken. My  opinion  has  been  formed  a 
long  time.  Look  you,  I am  certain 
these  red  devils  will  never  succeed  in 
killing  me-;  but  lam  furious  at  having 
been  so  thoroughly  duped  by  them.  It 
is  humiliating,  and  I am  now  racking 
my  brains  to  discover  a way  to  play 
them  a trick.” 

“ Do  so,  my  friend,  and  I would  help 
you,  were  it  possible ; but,  for  the  pre- 
sent, at  least,  I am  forced  to  remain 
neutral  ; my  hands  are  tied.” 

“ What  ?”  Brighteye  said,  with  as- 
tonishment, “you  mean  to  remain  here, 
and  serve  their  diabolical  jugglery  ?” 

“ I must,  my  good  fellow ; have  I 
not  pledged  my  word  ?” 

“ You  certainly  have  pledged  it,  and 
I do  not  know  why.  Still  a pledge 
given  to  an  Indian  counts  for  nothing. 
The  redskins  are  tribes  who  understand 
nothing  about  honor,  and,  in  a similar 
case,  I am  certain  that  Natah  Otann 
would  consider  himself  in  no  way  bound 
to  you.” 


“ That  is  possible,  although  [ am  not 
of  your  opinion.  The  chief  is  no  ordi- 
nary man.  He  is  gifted  with  a great 
intellect.” 

“ What  good  is  it  to  him  ? None. 
Except  to  be  more  cunning  and  trea- 
cherous than  his  countrymen.  Take  my 
advice,  and  do  not  stand  on  any  cere- 
mony with  him.  Take  French  Jeave, 
as  they  say  in  the  south,  and  leave  them 
in  the  lurch.  The  redskins  will  be  the 
first  to  applaud  your  conduct.” 

“ My  good  fellow,”  the  Count  said, 
seriously,  “ it  is  useless  to  discuss  the 
point ; when  a gentleman  has  once 
given  his  word,  he  is  a slave  to  it,  no 
matter  the  person  to  whom  he  has  given 
it,  or  the  color  of  his  skin.” 

“Very  good,  then,  Mr.  Edward,  pray 
act  as  you  think  proper.  I have  no 
right  to  thrust  my  advice  on  you.  You 
are  a better  judge  than  myself  of  how 
you  are  bound  to  act.  So,  be  easy.  I 
will  not  mention  it  again.” 

“ Thank  you.” 

“ All  that  is  very  good,  but  what  are 
we  going  to  do  now  ?” 

“ What  are  we  going  to  do  ? I sup- 
pose you  mean  what  are  you  going  to 
do  !” 

“ No,  Mr.  Edward,  I said  exactly 
what  1 meant;  you  understand  that  I 
am  not  going  to  leave  you  alone  in  this 
nest  of  serpents,  1 hope  !” 

“ On  the  contrary,  you  will  do  so 
directly.” 

“ I ?”  the  hunter  said,  with  a loud 
laugh. 

“ Yes,  you,  my  friend ; you  must.” 

“ Bah ! why  so,  pray,  if  you  re- 
main ?” 

“ That  is  the  very  reason.” 

The  hunter  reflected  for  a moment. 

“ You  know  that  I do  not  understand 
you  at  all,”  he  said. 

“ Yet  it  is  very  clear,”  the  Count  an- 
swered. 

“ Hum ! that  is  possible,  but  not  to 
me.” 

“ What,  you  do  not  understand  that 
we  must  avenge  ourselves?” 

“ Oh,  of  course,  I understand  that, 
Mr.  Edward.” 

“ How  can  we  hope  to  succeed,  if  you 
insist  on  remaining  here  ?” 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


151 


“ Because  you  remain,”  the  hunter 
said,  obstinately. 

“ With  me  it  is  very  different,  my 
good  fellow.  I remain,  because  1 have 
given  my  word  ; while  you  are  free  to 
go  and  come,  and  must  therefore  profit 
by  it  to  leave  the  camp.  Once  in  the 
prairie,  nothing  can  be  easier  for  you 
v than  to  join  some  of  our  friends.  It  is 
evident  that  my  worthy  Ivon,  coward 
as  he  fancies  himself,  is  working  actively 
at  this  moment  for  my  deliverance ; so 
see  him,  come  to  an  understanding  with 
him,  for  though  it  is  true  1 cannot  leave 
this  place,  1 cannot,  on  the  other  hand, 
prevent  my  friends  from  liberating  me  ; 
if  they  succeed,  my  parole  will  be  sus- 
pended, and  nothing  will  hinder  my  fol- 
lowing them.  Do  you  understand  me 
now  V’ 

“ Yes,  Mr.  Edward  ; but  I confess 
that  I cannot  make  up  my  mind  to  leave 
you  alone,  among  these  red  devils.” 

“ Do  not  trouble  yourself  about  that, 
Brighteye ; l run  no  danger  by  remain- 
ing with  them  ; they  have  too  much  re- 
spect for  me ; besides,  Natah  Otann 
well  knows  how  to  defend  me,  should  it 
be  needful.  So,  my  friend,  start  at 
once.  You  will  serve  me  better  by  go- 
ing, than  by  insisting  on  remaining  here, 
where  your  presence,  in  the  event  of 
danger,  would  be  more  injurious  than 
useful  to  me.” 

“ You  are  a better  judge  than  I in 
such  a matter,  sir  ; as  you  insist  on  it, 
I will  go,”  the  hunter  said,  with  a 
mournful  shake  of  his  head. 

“Above  all,  be  prudent,  do  not  ex- 
pose yourself  to  risk  in  quitting  the 
camp.” 

The  hunter  smiled  disdainfully. 

“ You  know,”  he  said,  “ that  the  red- 
skins cannot  harm  me.” 

“ That  is  true  ; I forgot  it,”  the  young 
man  said,  laughingly,  “ so,  good-bye, 
my  friend,  stay  no  longer,  but  go,  and 
joy  be  with  you.” 

“ Good-bye,  Mr.  Edward  ; will  you 
not  give  me  a shake  of  the  hand,  before 
we  part,  not  knowing  whether  we  shall 
ever  meet  again  ?” 

“ Most  gladly,  for  are  we  not  bro- 
thers ?” 

“ That  is  famous,”  the  hunter  said, 


joyfully,  as  he  pressed  the  Count’s 
offered  hand. 

The  two  men  presently  separated. 

The  Count  fell  back  on  the  pile  of 
furs  that  served  as  his  bed,  while  the 
hunter,  after  assuring  himself  that  his 
arms  were  in  good  condition,  quitted  the 
tent.  With  his  rifle  under  his  arm,  and 
head  erect,  he  crossed  the  camp. 

The  Indians  did  not  seem  at  all  to 
trouble  themselves  at  the  hunter’s  pre- 
sence among  them,  and  allowed  him  to 
depart  unimpeded. 

Brighteye,  when  he  had  gone  about 
two  musket-shots  from  the  camp,  stop- 
ped, and  began  reflecting  on  what  was 
best  to  be  done  to  liberate  the  Count. 
After  a few  moments’  reflection,  his 
mind  was  made  up,  and  he  proceeded 
toward  the  squatter’s  settlement  with 
that  long  trot  peculiar  to  the  hunters. 

Wh«  n he  reached  the  clearing,  the 
squatter  was  holding  a conference  with 
Ivon  and  the  party  sent  by  Major  Mel- 
ville. 

His  arrival  was  greeted  with  a hur- 
rah of  delight. 

The  North  Americans  were  consider- 
ably embarassed. 

Mrs.  Margaret,  in  spite  of  the  exclu- 
sive details  she  had  obtained  about 
Natah  Otann’s  plans,  and  the  move- 
ments of  the  Indians,  had  only  made  an 
incomplete  report  to  the  major,  from 
the  simple  reason,  that  the  old  sachems 
of  the  Allied  Nations  kept  their  delibe- 
rations so  secret,  that  Red  Wolf,  despite 
all  his  cleverness  and  craft,  had  himself 
picked  up  but  a slight  part  of  the  plan 
the  chiefs  proposed  to  follow. 

The  scouts,  sent  out  in  all  directions, 
had  brought  in  startling  reports  about 
the  movements  of  the  Blackteet.  The 
Indians  appeared  resolved  to  strike  a 
grand  blow  this  time ; all  the  Missouri 
nations  had  responded  to  Natah  Otann’s 
appeal ; the  tribes  arrived  one  after  the 
other,  to  join  the  coalition,  so  that  their 
number  now  attained  4,000,  and  threat- 
ened not  to  stop  then. 

Fort  Mackenzie  was  surrounded  on 
all  sides  by  invisible  enemies,  who  had 
completely  cut  off  the  communication 
with  the  other  settlements  of  the.  Fur 
Company,  and  rendered  the  Major’s 
position  extremely  critical. 


152 


THE  FLOWER  OF  TIIE  PRAIRIE. 


Thus  the  hunters  were  greatly  per- 
plexed, and  during  the  many  hours  they 
had  been  deliberating,  they  had  only 
hit  on  insufficient  or  impracticable 
means  to  relieve  the  fortress. 

The  white  men  only  succeeded  in 
holding  their  own  in  Western  America 
by  the  divisions  they  have  managed  to 
sow  among  the  aborigines  of  the  con- 
tinent : whenever  the  latter  have  re- 
mained united,  the  Europeans  have 
failed,  as  witness  the  Araucanos  of 
Chili,  whose  small  but  valiant  republic 
nas  maintained  its  independence  to  the 
present  day ; or  the  Seminoles  of 
Florida,  who  have  only  lately  been  con- 
quered after  a desperate  contest,  carried 
on  with  all  the  rules  of  modern  war- 
fare, and  many  other  Indian  nations, 
whose  names  we  could  easily  quote,  if 
necessary,  in  support  of  our  arguments. 

This  time  the  Indians  seemed  to  have 
understood  the  importance  of  open  and 
energetic  action. 

The  several  chiefs  had,  ostensibly  at 
least,  forgotten  all  their  hatred  and  jeal- 
ousies, to  destroy  the  common  enemy. 

Thus  the  Americans,  in  spite  of  their 
approved  bravery,  trembled  at  the 
mere  thought  of  the  war  of  extermina- 
tion they  would  have  to  sustain  against 
enemies  exasperated  by  a long  series  of 
vexations,  when  they  counted  their 
numbers,  and  saw  how  weak  they  were, 
compared  to  the  warriors  preparing  to 
crush  them. 

The  council,  interrupted  for  a mo- 
ment by  Brighteye’s  arrival,  immedi- 
ately assembled  again,  and  the  debate 
was  continued. 

“ By  Heaven  !”  John  Black  exclaim- 
ed, “ I confess  that  I have  no  luck, 
everything  turns  against  me  ; hardly 
have  I settled  here,  whither  everything 
made  me  forbode  a prosperous  future, 
than  I am  dragged,  in  spite  of  myself, 
into  a war  with  these  vagabond  savages. 
Who  knows  how  it  will  end  ? It  is  plain 
to  me  that  we  shall  all  lose  our  scalps. 
That  is  a pleasant  prospect  for  a man 
who  is  anxious  to  raise  his  family  hon- 
orably by  his  labor.” 

“ That  is  not  the  question  at  this  mo- 
ment,” Ivon  said,  “ we  have  to  save  my 
master  at  all  risks.  What!  you  all 
afraid  to  fight  when  it  is  almost  your 


I trade,  and  you  have  done  hardly  any- 
thing else  during  our  lives;  while  I, 
who  am  known  to  be  a remarkable 
coward,  do  not  hesitate  to  risk  my  scalp 
to  save  my  master.” 

“ You  do  not  understand  me,  Master 
Ivon ; 1 do  not  say  that  I am  afraid  to 
fight  the  Indians ; Heaven  guard  me 
from  fearing  these  Pagans,  whom  I des- 
pise. Still,  I believe  that  an  honest 
and  laborious  man,  like  myself,  may  be 
permitted  to  deplore  the  consequences 
of  a war  with  these  demons.  I know  too 
well  all  I and  my  family  owe  to  the 
Count,  to  hesitate  in  hurrying  to  his 
help,  whatever  the  result  may  be.  The 
little  I possess  was  his  gift,  I have  not 
forgotten  it,  and  even  were  I to  fall,  l 
would  do  my  duty.” 

“ Bravo  ! that  is  what  I call  speak- 
ing,” Ivon  replied,  joyously  ; “ I was 
certain  you  would  not  hang  back.” 

“ Unfortunately,”  Brighteye  objected, 
“all  this  does  not  advance  matters 
much.  I do  not  see  how  we  can  serve 
our  friends.  These  red  devils  fall  upon 
us  more  numerous  than  locusts  in  June. 
We  may  kill  many  of  them  ; but  in  the 
end  they  will  crush  us  by  their 
weight.” 

This  sad  truth,  perfectly  understood 
by  the  auditors,  plunged  them  into  dull 
grief.  A material  impossibility  cannot 
be  discussed  ; it  must  be  submitted  to. 

The  Americans  felt  an  imminent 
catastrophe  coming  on,  and  their  des- 
pair was  augmented  by  the  consciousness 
of  their  impotence. 

Suddenly  the  cry,  “To  arms!”  several 
times  repeated,  outside,  made  them 
bound  on  their  seats.  Each  seized  his 
weapons,  and  ran  out. 

The  cry  which  had  broken  up  the 
conference,  was  raised  by  William,  the 
squatter’s  son. 

All  eyes  were  turned  on  the  prairie, 
aud  the  hunters  perceived,  with  secret 
terror,  that  William  was  not  mistaken. 

A large  band  of  Indian  warriors, 
dressed  in  their  grand  war  paint,  was 
galloping  over  the  plain,  and  rapidly 
approaching  the  clearing. 

“ Hang  it,”  Brighteye  muttered, 
“ matters  are  getting  worse.  I must 
confess  that  these  most  accursed  Pagans 
have  made  enormous  progress  in  military 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRTE. 


153 


tactics.  If  they  continue,  they  will 
soon  give  us  a lesson.” 

“ Do  you  think  so  ?”  Black  asked, 
anxiously. 

“ Confound  it,”  the  hunter  replied, 

“ it  is  evident  to  me  that  we  are  about 
to  be  attacked.  I now  know  the  plan 
of  the  redskins  as  thoroughly  as  if  they 
had  explained  it  to  me  themselves.” 

“ Ah  !”  Ivon  said,  curiously. 

“Judge  for  yourselves,”  the  hunter 
continued,  “ the  Indians  intend  to  attack 
simultaneously  all  the  posts  occupied 
by  white  men,  in  order  to  render  it  im- 
possible for  them  to  help  one  another. 
That  is  excessively  logical  on  their  parts. 
Ju  that  way  they  will  have  a cheap  bar- 
gain of  us,  and  massacre  us  in  detail. 
II  urn  ! the  man  who  commands  them  is 
a rough  adversary  for  us.  My  lads, 
we  must  make  up  our  minds  gaily.  We 
are  lost,  that  is  as  plain  to  me  as  if  the 
scalping  knife  was  already  in  our  hair. 
All  left  to  us  is  to  fall  bravely.” 

These  words,  pronounced  in  the  cool 
and  placid  tone  usual  with  the  wood- 
ranger,  caused  all  who  heard  him  to 
shudder. 

“ 1 alone,  perhaps,”  Brighteye  added, 
carelessly,  “ should  escape  the  common 
fate.” 

“ Bah  !”  Ivon  said,  “ you  old  hunter, 
why  so  ?” 

“Why?”  he  said,  with  a sarcastic 
smile ; “ because,  as  you  are  perfectly 
aware,  the  Indians  cannot  kill  me.” 

“Ah!”  Ivon  remarked,  stupified  by 
this  reason,  and  gazing  on  his  friend 
with  admiration. 

“ That  is  the  state  of  the  case.”  Bright- 
eye ended  his  address,  and  stamped  his 
rifle  on  the  ground. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  redskins  ad- 
vanced rapidly. 

The  band  was  composed  of  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  warriors  at  least,  the  ma- 
jority armed  with  guns,  which  proved 
they  were  picked  men.  At  the  head  of 
the  band,  and  about  ten  yards  in  ad- 
vance, galloped  two  horsemen,  probably 
chiefs. 

The  Indians  stopped  just  out  of  range 
of  the  entrenchments ; then  after  con- 
sulting together  for  a few  minutes,  a 
horseman  left  the  group,  and,  riding 


within  pistol  shot  of  the  palisades,  he 
waved  a buffalo  robe. 

“ Eh  ! eh  ! Master  Black,”  Brighteye 
said,  with  a cunning  smile,  “ that  is  ad- 
dressed to  you  as  the  chief  of  the  garri- 
son. The  redskins  wish  to  parley.” 

“ Ah  !”  the  American  said,  “ I have  a 
great  mind  to  send  a bullet  after  that 
rascal  parading  down,  as  my  sole  an- 
swer,” and  he  raised  his  rifle. 

“ Mind  what  you  are  about,”  the 
hunter  said,  “ you  do  not  know  the  red- 
skins. So  long  as  the  first  shot  is  not 
fired,  there  is  a chance  of  treating  with 
them.” 

“ Suppose,  old  hunter,”  Ivon  said, 
“you  were  to  do  something  ?” 

“ What  is  it,  my  prudent  friend?” 
the  Canadian  asked. 

“ Why,  as  you  are  not  afraid  of  be- 
ing killed  by  the  redskins,  suppose  you 
go  to  them.  Perhaps  you  could  arrange 
matters  with  them.” 

“ Stay  ! that  is  a good  idea.  No  one 
can  say  what  may  happen.  I will  go. 
That  will  be  the  best  after  all.  Will 
you  accompany  me,  Ivon  ?” 

“ Well,  that  is  settled,  then.  Open 
the  gate  for  us,  Master  Black ; but 
keep  a good  lookout  during  our  absence, 
and,  on  the  first  suspicious  movement, 
fire  on  these  heathens.” 

“ Do  not  alarm  yourself,  old  hunter,” 
the  latter  said,  squeezing  his  hand  cor- 
dially ; “ I should  not  like  any  harm  to 
happen  to  you,  for  you  are  a man.” 

“ I believe  so,”  the  Canadian  said, 
with  a laugh  ; “ but  what  1 say  to  you 
is  more  for  this  worthy  fellow’s  sake 
than  mine,  for  I assure  you  I am  quite 
easy  on  my  own  account.” 

“ No  matter,  1 will  watch  those  de- 
mons carefully.” 

“ That  can  do  no  harm.” 

The  gate  was  opened. 

Brighteye  and  Ivon  went  down  the 
hill,  and  went  toward  the  horseman, 
who  was  patiently  awaiting  them. 

“ Ah  ! ah  P'  Brighteye  muttered,  so 
soon  as  he  drew  near  enough  to  recog- 
nize the  rider;  “ 1 fancy  that  our  affairs 
are  not  so  bad  as  I at  first  suspected.” 

“ Why  so  ?”  Ivon  asked. 

“ Look  at  the  warrior.  Do  you  not 
see  it  is  Red  Wolf?” 


154 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


“ That  is  true.  Well  ?” 

“ Well,  I have  reasons  for  believing 
tnat  he  is  not  so  great  an  enemy  as  he 
appears  to  be.” 

“ Are  you  sure  of  it  1” 

“ Silence  ! we  shall  soon  see.” 
f^e  three  men  saluted  each  other 
courteously  in  the  Indian  fashion,  by 
laying  the  right  hand  on  the  heart,  and 
holding  out  the  other  open,  with  the 
fingers  apart  and  the  palm  turned  out- 
wards. 

“ My  brother  is  welcome  among  his 
paleface  brothers,”  Brighteye  said, 
“ does  he  come  to  sit  at  the  council  fire, 
and  smoke  the  calumet  in  my  wig- 
wam 1” 

“ The  hunter  will  decide.  Red  Wolf 
comes  as  a friend,”  the  Indian  answer- 
ed. 

“ Good,”  the  Canadian  remarked, 
“did  Red  Wolf  then  fear  treachery  from 
his  friend,  that  he  brought  so  large  a 
body  of  warriors  with  him  ?” 

The  Blackfoot  smiled  cunningly. 
“Red  Wolf  is  a chief  among  the 
Kenhas,”  he  said,  “ his  tongue  is  not 
forked.  The  words  that  pass  his  lips 
come  from  his  heart.  The  chief  wishes 
to  serve  his  pale  friends.” 

“ Wall !”  Brighteye  said,  “ the  chief 
has  spoken  well.  His  words  have 
sounded  pleasantly  in  my  ears.  What 
does  my  brother  desire  ?” 

“ To  sit  at  the  council  fires  of  the 
palefaces,  and  explain  to  them  the  rea- 
sons that  bring  him  here.” 

“Good.  Will  my  brother  go  alone 
among  the  white  men  ?” 

“ No  ! another  person  will  accompa- 
ny the  chief.” 

And  who  is  this  person  in  whom  so 
great  a chief  as  my  brother  places  con- 
fidence ?”« 

“ The  She-wolf  of  the  prairies.” 
Brighteye  suppressed  a movement  of 

j°y- 


“ Good,”  he  went  on,  “ My  brother 
can  come  with  the  She-wolf.  The  pale- 
faces will  receive  them  kindly.” 

“ My  brother,  the  hunter,  will  an- 
nounce the  visit  of  his  friends.” 

“ Yes,  chief,  1 will  go  at  once  and  do 
so.” 

The  conference  was  over. 

The  three  men  seperated,  after  again 
saluting,  and  Brighteye  and  Ivon  hur- 
ried back  to  the  entrenchments. 

“ Victory  !”  the  hunter  said  on  ar- 
riving, “ we  are  saved  !” 

All  pressed  round  him,  greedy  to 
learn  the  details  of  the  conference,  and 
Brighteye  satisfied  the  general  curiosity 
without  a moment’s  delay. 

“ Ah  !”  Black  said,  “ if  the  old  lady 
is  with  them,  we  are,  indeed,  saved,” 
and  he  rubbed  his  hands  joyfully. 

After  having  failed  so  unluckily  in 
the  snare  she  had  laid  for  Natah  Otann, 
Mrs.  Margaret,  far  from  being  .discou- 
raged, felt  her  desire  of  revenge  in- 
crease; and,  without  losing  time  in  re- 
gretting the  check  she  had  undergone, 
she  immediately  drew  up  her  plans,  for 
she  had  reached  that  pitch  of  rage  when 
a person  is  completely  blinded  by 
hatred. 

Ten  piinutes  after  leaving  the  Sachem, 
she  quitted  the  camp,  accompanied  by 
Red  Wolf,  who,  by  her  orders,  led  off 
the  warriors  he  commanded  and  started 
for  the  clearing. 

Brighteye  had  scarce  given  his  friends 
the  information  they  desired,  ere  Mar- 
garet and  Red  Wolf  entered  the  stock- 
ade, where  they  were  received  with  the 
greatest  affability  by  the  trappers,  and 
especially  by  Black,  who  was  delighted 
to  find  that  his  clearing  was  not  men- 
aced, and  that  the  storm  was  turning 
from  him  to  burst  elsewhere. 

Let  us  now  return  to  Fort  Mackenzie, 
w'here,  at  this  very  moment,  events  of 
the  utmost  importance  were  occurring. 


155 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  ATTACK. 

White  Buffalo  and  Natah  Otann 
had  drawn  up  their  strategic  arrange- 
ments witii  remarkable  skill.  The  two 
chiefs  had  scarce  formed  their  camp  in 
the  clearing,  ere  they  assembled  the 
sachems  of  the  other  tribes  camped  out 
far  from  them,  in  order  to  combine  theii^ 
movement,  so  as  to  attack  the  Ameri- 
cans simultaneously  from  all  points. 

Though  the  redskins  are  excessively 
cunning,  the  Americans  had  succeeded 
in  thoroughly  deceiving  them  ; in  the 
gloom  and  silence  that  prevailed  through 
the  fort,  for  not  a single  bayonet  could 
be  seen  glistening  behind  its  parapets. 

Leaving  their  horses  concealed  in  the 
forest,  the  Indians  lay  down  on  the 
ground,  and  crawling  through  the  tall 
trees  like  reptiles,  began  crossing  the 
space  that  separated  them  from  the 
ramparts. 

All  was  still  apparently  gloomy  and 
silent,  and  yet  two  thousand  intrepid 
warriors  were  crawling  up  in  the  shadow 
to  attack  a foi tress  behind  which  forty 
resolute  men  only  waited  for  the  signal 
to  be  given,  and  commence  the  attack. 

When  all  the  orders  had  been  given, 
and  the  last  warriors  had  quitted  the 
hill,  Natah  Otann,  whose  perspicuous 
eye  had  discovered  a certain  hesitation 
of  evil  omen  in  the  minds  of  the  allied 
chiefs,  resolved  to  make  the  final  appeal 
to  the  Count,  to  secure  his  co-operation. 

We  have  already  seen  the  result. 

When  left  alone,  Natah  Otann  gave 
his  signal  for  attack  ; the  Indians  rushed 
like  a hurricane  down  the  sides  of  the 
hill,  and  ran  towards  the  fort,  brandish- 
ing their  arms,  and  uttering  their  war 
yell. 

Suddenly  a heavy  discharge  w’as  heard, 
and  Fort  Mackenzie  was  begirt  with 
smoke  and  dazzling  flashes. 

The  battle  had  commenced. 

The  plain  was  invaded,  as  far  as  eye 
could  trace,  by  powerful  detachments  of 
Indian  warriors,  who  converging  on  one 
point,  marched  resolutely  toward  the 
fort,  incessantly  discharging  their  bul- 
lets at  it ; while  new  bands  could  be 
seen  constantly  arriving  from  the  place 
10 


where  the  chain  of  hills  abuts  on  the 
Missouri. 

They  came  up  at  a gallop,  in  parties 
of  from  three  to  twenty  men ; their 
horses  were  covered  with  foam,  which 
led  to  the  presumption  that  they  had 
come  a long  distance. 

The  Black  feet  were  in  their  war  at- 
tire, loaded  with  all  sorts  of  ornaments 
and  arms,  with  bow  and  quiver  on  their 
backs,  and  musket  in  hand,  while  their 
heads  were  crowned  with  feathers,  some 
of  which  were  the  magnificent  black  and 
white  eagle  plumes.  They  were  seated 
on  handsome  saddle  cloths  of  panther 
skin  lined  with  red  ; the  upper  part  of 
the  body  was  naked,  with  the  exception 
of  a long  strip  of  wolf-skin  passing  over 
the  shoulder  as  a cross  belt,  while  their 
bucklers  were  adorned  with  feathers  and 
cloth  of  various  colors. 

These  men,  thus  accoutred,  had  some- 
thing imposing  and  majestic  about  them, 
which  affected  the  imagination,  and  in- 
spired terror. 

The  struggle  seemed  most  obstinate 
in  the  environs  of  the  fort,  and  on  the 
hill. 

The  Blackfeet,  sheltered  by  tall  pali- 
sades, planted  during  the  night,  replied 
to  the  Americans*  fire  with  an  equally 
rapid  fire,  exciting  each  other,  with  wild 
cries,  courageously  to  resist  the  attack  of 
their  implacable  foes. 

The  defence  was,  however,  as  vigor- 
ous as  the  assault,  and  the  combat  did 
not  appear  destined  to  terminate  so 
soon. 

Already  many  corpses  lay  on  the 
ground,  startled  horses  galloped  in  every 
direction,  and  : he  shrieks  of  the  wounded 
mingled  at  intervals  with  the  defiant 
shouts  of  the  assailants. 

Natali  Otann,  so  so  >n  as  the  signal 
had  been  given,  ran  off  to  the  tent  where 
his  prisoner  was. 

“ The  moment  has  arrived,”  he  said 
to  him. 

“ 1 am  ready,”  the  Count  answered  ; 
“ go  on.  I will  keep  constantly  at 
your  side.” 

“ Come  on,  then  !” 

They  went  out,  and  at  once  rushed 
in  to  the  thickest  of  the  fight. 

The  Count,  as  he  had  said,  was  un- 
armed, raising  his  head  fiercely  at  each 


156 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


bullet  that  whistled  past  his  ear,  and 
smiling  at  the  death  which  he,  perhaps, 
invoked  in  his  heart. 

In  spite  of  his  contempt  for  the  white 
race,  the  Indian  could  not  refrain  from 
admiring  this  courage,  which  was  so 
frankly  and  nobly  stoical. 

“ You  are  a man,”  he  said  to  the 
Count. 

“ Did  you  ever  doubt  it  ?”  the  latter 
remarked,  simply. 

Still  the  combat  became,  with  each 
moment,  more  obstinate. 

The  Indians  rushed  forward,  roaring 
like  lions,  against  the  palisades  of  the 
fort,  and  were  killed  without  flinching ; 
their  bodies  almost  filled  up  the  moat. 

The  Americans,  compelled  to  make  a 
front  on  all  sides,  defended  themselves 
with  the  methodical  and  resolute  impas- 
siveness of  men  who  know  they  have 
no  help  to  expect,  and  who  have  made 
up  their  minds  to  sell  their  lives 
dearly. 

From  the  beginning  of  the  fight, 
White  Buffalo  had,  with  a picked  body 
of  men,  held  the  hill  that  commanded 
Fort  Mackenzie,  which  rendered  the 
position  of  the  garrison  still  more  pre- 
carious, for  they  were  thus  exposed  to 
a terrible  and  well-sustained  fire,  which 
caused  them  irreparable  loss,  regard  be- 
ing had  to  the  smallness  of  their  num- 
bers. 

Major  Melville,  standing  at  the  foot 
of  the  flagstaff,  with  his  arms  crossed  on 
his  breast,  a pallid  brow  and  compressed 
lips,  saw  his  men  fall  one  after  the 
other,  and  he  stamped  his  foot  with 
rage  at  his  impotence  to  save  them. 

Suddenly,  a terrific  shriek  of  agony 
rose  from  the  interior  of  the  buildings, 
and  the  wives  of  the  soldiers  and  en- 
gages rushed  simultaneously  into  the 
square,  flying,  half  mad  with  terror, 
from  an  enemy  still  invisible. 

The  Indians,  guided  by  White  Buffa- 
lo, had  turned  the  fortress,  and  dis- 
covered a secret  entrance  which  the 
major  fancied  known  to  himself  alone, 
and  which,  in  case  of  a serious  attack 
and  impossibility  of  defence,  would 
serve  the  garrison  in  effecting  its  re- 
treat. 

From  this  moment  the  Americans 


saw  that  they  were  lost ; it  was  no 
longer  a battle,  but  a massacre. 

The  Major, followed  by  a few  resolute 
men,  rushed  into  the  buildings,  and  the 
Indians  scaled  on  all  sides  the  palisades, 
now  deprived  of  protection. 

The  few  surviving  Americans  col- 
lected round  the  flagstaff,  from  the  top 
of  which  floated  the  starry  banner  of 
the  United  States,  and  strove  to  sell 
•their  lives  as  dearly  as  possible,  for 
they  feared  most  falling  alive  into  the 
hands  of  their  implacable  enemies. 

The  Indians  replied  to  the  hurrahs 
of  their  foes  by  their  terrific  war-cry, 
and  bounded  on  them  like  coyotes, 
brandishing  over  their  heads  their  blood- 
stained weapons. 

“ Down  with  your  arms !”  Natah 
Otann  shouted,  on  reaching  the  scene  of 
action. 

“ Never!”  the  Major  replied,  rushing 
on  him  at  the  head  of  the  few  soldiers 
still  left  him. 

The  melee  recommenced,  more  ar- 
dent and  implacable  than  before. 

The  Indians  rushed  about  in  every 
direction,  throwing  torches  on  the  roofs, 
which  immediately  caught  fire. 

The  Major  saw  that  victory  was  hopo 
less,  and  tried  to  effect  his  retreat.  But 
that  was  not  so  easy.  There  was  no 
chance  of  climbing  over  the  palisades  ; 
the  only  prospect  was  the  gate ; but  be- 
fore that  gate,  the  Blackfeet,  skilfully 
posted,  repulsed  with  their  lances  those 
who  tried  to  escape  by  it. 

Still  there  was  an  alternative. 

The  Major  rallied  his  men  for  a final 
effort,  and  rushed  with  incredible  fury 
on  the  enemy,  with  the  hope  of  cutting 
his  way  through. 

The  collision  was  horrible — it  was 
not  a battle,  but  a butchery  ; foot  to 
foot,  chest  against  chest — in  which  the 
men  seized  each  other  round  the  waist, 
killed  each  other  with  knives,  or  tore 
the  foe  with  teeth  and  nails.  Those 
who  fell  did  not  rise  again — the  wound 
ed  were  finished  at  once. 

This  frightful  carnage  lasted  about  a 
quarter  of  an  hour;  two-thirds  of  the 
Americans  succumbed  ; the  rest  man- 
aged to  force  a passage,  and  fled,  closely 
pursued  by  the  Indians,  who  then  com- 
menced a horrible  man-hunt. 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


157 


Never,  until  this  day,  had  the  red- 
skins fought  the  whites  with  such  fury 
and  tenacity. 

The  presence  among  them  of  the 
Count,  disarmed  and  smiling,  who,  al- 
though rushing  into  the  thickest  of  the 
contest,  by  the  side  of  the  chief,  appeared 
invulnerable,  electrified  them,  and  they 
really  believed  that  Natah  Otann  had 
told  them  the  truth — and  that  the  Count 
was  that  Moctecuzoma  they  had  awaited 
so  long,  and  whose  presence  would  re- 
store them  forever  that  liberty  which 
the  white  men  had  torn  from  them. 

Thus  they  had  kept  their  eyes  con- 
stantly fixed  on  the  young  man,  salut- 
ing him  with  noisy  shouts  of  joy,  and 
redoubling  their  efforts  to  secure  the 
victory. 

Natah  Otann  rushed  toward  the 
American  flag,  tore  it  down,  and  wound 
it  over  his  head. 

“ Victory — victory  !”  he  shouted,  joy 
fully. 

The  Blackfeet  responded  to  this  cry 
with  yells,  and  spread  in  every  direc- 
tion to  begin  plundering. 

A few  men  still  remained  in  the  fort, 
among  them  being  the  Major,  who  did 
not  wish  to  survive  his  defeat. 

The  Indians  rushed  upon  him  with 
loud  yells,  to  massacre  him,  but  the 
veteran  remained  calm,  and  did  not 
offer  to  defend  himself. 

“ Stay !”  the  Count  shouted ; and 
turning  to  Natah  Otann,  said,  “Will 
you  let  this  brave  soldier  be  assassinated 
in  cold  blood  ?” 

“ No,”  the  sachem  answered,  “ if  he 
consents  to  surrender  his  sword  to 
me.” 

“Never!”  the  old  gentleman  said, 
with  energy,  as  he  broke  across  his  knee 
his  weapon,  blood-stained  to  the  hilt, 
threw  the  pieces  at  the  chief’s  feet,  and, 
crossing  his  arms,  he  regarded  his  victor 
with  supreme  contempt,  as  he  said  : 

“ Kill  me  now ; I can  no  longer  de- 
fend myself.” 

“ Bravo  !”  the  Count  exclaimed  ; and 
not  calculating  the  consequences  of  the 
deed,  he  went  up  to  the  Major,  and  cor- 
dially pressed  his  hand. 

Natah  Otann  regarded  the  two  for  an 
instant  with  an  undefinable  expression. 

“ Oh  !”  he  muttered  to  himself,  with 


sorrow,  “ we  may  beat  them,  but  we 
shall  never  conquer  them.  These  men 
are  stronger  than  we ; they  are  born  to 
be  our  masters.” 

Then  raising  his  hand  above  his  head, 

“ Enough  !”  he  said,  in  a loud  voice. 

“ Enough  !”  the  Count  repeated,  “ re- 
spect the  conquered.” 

That  which  the  sachem  could  not 
have  obtained,  in  spite  of  the  respect 
the  Indians  had  for  him,  the  Count  ob- 
tained instantaneously,  through  the 
superstitious  veneration  he  inspired 
them  with  ; they  stopped,  and  the  car- 
nage finally  ceased. 

The  Americans  were  disarmed  in  a 
second,  and  the  redskins  remained 
masters  of  the  fort. 

Natah  Otann  took  his  totem  from  the 
hands  of  the  warrior  who  b$re  it,  and, 
after  swinging  it  several  times  in  the  air, 
hoisted  it  in  the  place  of  the  American 
flag,  in  the  midst  of  the  frenzied  shouts 
of  the  Indians,  who,  intoxicated  with 
joy,  could  hardly  yet  believe  in  their 
victory. 

White  Buffalo  had  not  lost  a moment 
in  assuring  himself  of  the  peaceful  pos- 
session of  a conquest  which  had  cost  the 
confederates  so  much  blood  and  toil. 

When  the  sachems  had  restored  some 
little  order  among  their  warriors  ; when 
the  fire,  that  threatened  the  destruction 
of  the  fort,  had  been  extinguished  ; and 
all  precautions  taken  against  any  renewal 
of  the  attack  by  the  Americans — though 
that  was  very  improbable — Natah  Otann 
and  White  Buffalo  withdrew  to  the  ap- 
partment  hitherto  occupied  by  the  Ma- 
jor, and  the  Count  followed  them. 

“ At  length,”  the  young  chief  exclaim- 
ed, with  delight,  “ we  have  proved  to 
these  haughty  Americans  that  they  are 
not  invincible.” 

“ Your  weakness  caused  their 
strength,”  White  Buffalo  replied.  “You 
have  made  a good  beginning,  and  now 
you  must  go  on  ; it  is  not  enough  to 
conquer  ; you  must  know  how  to  profit 
by  that  victory.” 

“ Pardon  my  interrupting  you,  gentle- 
men,” the  Count  said  ; “ but  I fancy  the 
hour  has  arrived  to  settle  our  accounts.” 

“What  do  you  mean,  sir?”  White 
Buffalo  asked,  haughtily. 

“ I will  explain  myself,  sir,”  the  Count 


158 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


continued;  and,  turning  to  Natah  Otann, 
“you  will  do  me  the  justice  to  allow  that 
I have  scrupulously  kept  the  promise  1 
made  you;  in  spite  of  the  grief  and  dis- 
gust I felt,  I did  not  fail  once  ; you  ever 
found  me  cold  aud  calm  at  your  side. 
Is  not  this  so  ] — answer,  sir.” 

“ It  is  true,”  Natah  Otann  replied, 
coldly. 

“ Very  good,  sir;  it  is  now  my  turn 
to  ask  from  you  the  fu.fillment  of  the 
promises  you  made  me.” 

“ Be  a little  more  explicit,  sir,”  the 
chief  said.  “ During  the  last  few  hours 
I have  been  actor  in  and  witness  of  so 
many  extraordinary  things,  that  1 may 
possibly  have  forgotten  what  I did  pro- 
mise you.” 

The  Count  smiled  with  disdain. 

“ I expected  some  trickery,”  he  said, 
drily. 

“ You  misinterpret  my  words.  I may 
have  forgotten,  but  I do  not  refuse  to 
satisfy  your  just  claims.” 

“Very  good;  1 admit  that,  so  I re- 
mind you  of  the  stipulations  made  be- 
tween us.” 

“ I shall  be  glad  to  hear  them.” 

“ I pledged  myself  to  remain  by  your 
side  unarmed  during  the  action,  to  fol- 
low you  everywhere,  and  ever  to  go  in 
the  first  rank  of  the  combatants.” 

“ That  is  true,  and  it  is  my  duty  to 
allow  that  you  have  nobly  performed 
that  perilous  task.” 

“ Very  well ; but  in  doing  so,  I only 
acted  as  my  honor  dictated  ; you  on 
your  part,  pledged  yourself,  whatever 
the  issue  of  the  battle  might  be,  to 
grant  me  my  liberty,  and  give  me  an 
honorable  satisfaction,  in  reparation  for 
the  unworthy  treachery  of  which  you 
rendered  me  the  victtm,  and  the  odious 
part  you  forced  me  unconsciously  to 
play.” 

“ Oh,  oh  !”  White  Buffalo  said,  frown- 
ing and  striking  the  table  with  his  fist, 
“ did  you  really  make  such  a promise 
as  that,  child  ?” 

The  Count  turned  to  the  old  man 
with  a gesture  of  sovereign  contempt. 

“ I believe,  sir,”  he  said,  “that  you 
are  doubting  the  honor  of  a gentle- 
man.” 

“ Nonsense,  sir]”  the  republican  said 
with  a grin.  “ How  can  you  talk  to  us 


of  honor  and  nobility  ] You  forget  that 
we  are  in  the  desert,  and  that  you  are 
addressing  savage  Indians,  as  you  call 
us.  Do  we  recognize  your  foolish  caste 
distinctions  here  ] Have  we  adopted 
your  laws  aud  absurd  prejudices!” 

“ What  you  treat  so  cavalierly,”  the 
Count  sharply  retorted,  “ has  hitherto 
been  the  safeguard  of  civilization,  aud 
the  cause  of  intellectual  progress  ; but 
I have  nothing  to  discuss  with  you;  I 
am  addressing  myself  to  your  adopted 
son  ; let  him  answer  me,  yes  or  no,  and 
I shall  then  know  what  remains  for  me 
to  do.” 

“ Be  it  so,  sir,”  White  Buffalo  said, 
with  a shrug  of  his  shoulders.  “ Let 
my  son  answer,  and,  according  to  his 
reply,  I shall  then  know  what  remains 
for  me  to  do.” 

“ As  this  affair  concerns  me  alone,” 
Natah  Otann  interposed,  “I  should  feel 
mortally  offended,  my  friend,  if  you  in- 
terfered in  any  way  in  it.” 

The  White  Buffalo  smiled  with  con 
tempt,  but  made  no  reply. 

Natah  Otann  then  continued  : 

“ I will  employ  no  subterfuges  with 
you,  sir ; you  have  spoken  the  truth  ; 

I promised  you  liberty  and  satisfaction, 
and  I am  prepared  to  keep  my  word.” 

“ Oh,  oh,”  White  Buffalo  said. 

“ Silence  !”  the  chief  ordered,  per- 
emptorily. “ Listen,  my  friend  ; prove 
to  these  Europeans,  so  vain  and  so 
proud  of  their  so-called  civilization,  that 
the  redskins  are  not  the  ferocious  brutes 
they  imagine  them,  and  that  the  code 
of  honor  is  the  same  among  nations  who 
are  regarded  as  the  most  barbarous. 
You  ;u*e  free,  sir,  from  this  moment, 
and  if  you  please,  I will,  myself,  lead 
you  in  safety  outside  the  lines.  As  for 
the  duel  you  desire,  I am  equally  ready 
to  satisfy  you  in  any  way  you  may  in- 
dicate.” 

“ Thank  you,  sir,”  the  Count  answer- 
ed, with  a bow,  “ I am  happy  to  hear 
your  determination.” 

“ Now  that  affair  is  arranged  between 
us,  allow  me  to  add  a few  words.” 

“ I am  listening  to  you,  sir.” 

“Am  I in  the  way  ]”  White  Buffalo 
asked,  ironically. 

“ On  the  contrary,”  Natah  Otann 
said,  with  emphasis,  “ your  presence  is 


TIIE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


159 


at  this  moment  more  necessary  than 
ever.” 

“ Ah,  ah  ! what  is  going  to  happen  1” 
the  old  man  went  on,  in  a sarcastic 
tone. 

“You  will  learn,”  the  chief  said,  still 
cold  and  impassive,  “ if  you  will  take 
the  trouble  to  listen  to  me  for  five  min- 
utes.” 

“ Be  it  so ; speak.” 

Natah  Otann  seemed  to  be  collecting 
himself  for  a few  moments,  and  said,  in 
a voice  which,  spite  of  all  his  efforts  to 
conceal  it,  trembled  slightly,  through 
some  hidden  emotion : 

“ Owing  to  events  too  long  to  relate 
here,  and  which  would  probably  pos- 
sess but  slight  interest  for  you,  1 be- 
came the  guardian  of  a child,  who  is 
now  a charming  maiden.  This  girl,  to 
whom  I have  ever  paid  the  greatest  at- 
tention, and  whom  I love  as  a father,  is 
known  to  you  ; her  name  is  Prairie 
Flower.” 

The  Count  quivered,  and  made  a ges- 
ture in  affirmation,  but  no  other  reply. 

Natah  Otann  continued  : 

“ As  1 am  entering  now  on  a hazard- 
ous expedition,  in  which  I may  meet 
my  death,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to 
watch  longer  over  this  girl  ; it  would 
be  painful  to  me  to  leave  her  alone  and 
without  support,  among  my  tribe,  if 
destiny  were  to  cause  my  plans  to  fail. 
I know  that  she  loves  you ” 

The  Count  started. 

Without  noticing  him,  the  chief  re- 
sumed : 

“ I entrust  her  to  you  frankly  and 
honestly  ; I have  full  faith  in  your  hon- 
or— will  you  give  to  her  protection  ? 1 
know  that  you  will  never  abuse  the 
trust  I offer  you  ; I am  only  a brutal- 
ized Indian,  a monster,  perhaps,  to  your 
civilization ; but,  believe  me,  sir,  the 
lessons  a great  man  has  consented  to 
give  me  have  not  been  all  lost,  and  my 
heart  is  not  so  dead,  as  might  be  sup- 
posed, to  finer  feelings.” 

“ Good,  Natah  Otann,”  White  Buffa- 
lo said,  joyfully  ; “ Good,  my  son.  I 
now  recognize  my  pupil,  and  am  proud 
of  you  ; the  man  who  succeeds  in  such 
a victory  over  self  is  really  born  to 
command  others.” 

“ You  are  satisfied,”  the  chief  an- 


swered ; “all  the  better.  And  you,  sir  ? 
1 await  your  answer.” 

“ I accept  the  sacred  trust  you  offer 
me,  sir.  I will  be  worthy  of  your  con- 
fidence,” the  Count  answered  with  much 
emotion.  “ I have  no  right  to  judge 
your  actions  ; but,  believe,  sir,  that 
whatever  may  happen,  there  will  always 
be  one  man  to  defend  your  memory, 
and  proclaim  aloud  the  nobility  of  your 
heart.” 

The  chief  clapped  his  hands. 

The  door  opened,  and  Prairie  Flow- 
er appeared,  led  by  an  Indian  woman. 

“ Child,”  Natah  Otann  said  to  her, 
nothing  evincing  the  violence  he  did  to 
his  feelings,  “ your  presence  amongst 
us  is  henceforth  impossible  ; this  chief 
of  the  palefaces  consents  to  watch  over 
you  for  the  future,  follow  him  and  if  at 
times  you  are  reminded  of  your  stay 
with  the  tribe  of  the  Kenhas,  do  not 
curse  them  or  their  chief,  for  all  have 
been  kind  to  you.” 

The  maiden  blushed,  the  tears  rose 
to  her  eyes,  a nervous  tremor  agitated 
her  limbs,  and,  without  uttering  a word, 
she  took  her  place  by  the  Count’s  side. 

Natah  Otann  smiled  sorrowfully. 

“ Follow  me,”  he  said,  “ I will  escort 
you  out  of  the  camp.” 

And  he  went  out,  accompanied  by 
the  two  young  people. 

“We  shall  soon  meet  again,  1 pre- 
sume, noble  Count?”  White  Buffalo 
called  out,  after  his  countryman. 

“ I hope  so,”  the  latter  answered, 
simply. 

Guided  by  Natah  Otann,  the  Count 
and  his  companion  left  the  fort,  and  en- 
tered the  prairie,  passing  through 
groups  of  redskins,  who  stood  back  re- 
spectfully to  make  room  for  them. 
Their  walk  was  silent ; it  lasted  about 
half  an  hour,  until  the  chief  stopped. 

“ Here  you  have  nothing  more  to 
fear,”  he  said  ; and  go  ng  to  a dense 
thicket,  and  pulling  back  the  branches, 
“ Here  are  two  horses  I had  prepared 
for  you  ; take  also  these  weapons,  per- 
haps you  will  need  them  ; and  now,  if 
you  wish  to  fight  with  me,  I am  ready.” 

“ No,”  the  Count  answered,  nobly, 
“ any  combat  is  henceforth  impossible 
between  us ; l can  no  longer  be  the 
enemy  of  a man  whom  honor  orders 


160  ' 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


me  to  esteem  ; here  is  my  hand,  I will 
never  lift.it  against  you  ; 1 offer  it  you 
frankly,  and  without  any  after  thought ; 
unfortunately,  too  deep  a hatred  divides 
our  two  races  to  prevent  us  being  ere 
long  opposed  to  each  other,  but  if  I 
fight  your  brothers,  I shall  not  the  less 
remain  personally  your  friend.” 

“ 1 ask  no  more  of  you,”  the  chief 
replied,  as  he  pressed  the  hand  offered 
him  ; “ farewell  ! be  happy  !” 

And  without  adding  one  word,  he 
turned  away,  and  hurried  back  by  the 
road  he  had  come  ; he  soon  disappeared 
in  the  darkness. 

“ Let  us  go,”  the  Count  said  to  the 

maiden,  who  was  pensively  watching 

the  departure  of  the  man  she  had  so 

long  loved  as  a father,  and  whom  now 

she  did  not  feel  strong  enough  to  hate. 

© © 

They  mounted  and  went  off,  after  a 
parting  glance  at  the  scattered,  fire  of 
the  Blackfoot  camp. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

CONCLUSION. 

The  night  was  gloomy,  cold,  and 
mournful  ; not  a star  shone  in  the  sky, 
and  the  young  people  only  forced  their 
way  with  extreme  difficulty  through  the 
shrubs  and  creepers,  in  which  their 
horses’  feet  were  continually  caught. 

They  advanced  very  slowly,  for  both 
were  too  absorbed  by  the  strange  situa- 
tion in  which  they  found  themselves, 
and  the  extraordinary  events  of  which 
they  had  been  actors  or  witnesses,  to 
break  the  silence  they  had  maintained 
since  leaving  the  fort. 

They  went  on  thus  for  about  an  hour, 
when  a great  noise  was  suddenly  heard 
in  the  bushes. 

Two  men  rushed  to  the  horses’  heads, 
and,  seizing  the  bridles,  compelled  them 
to  stop. 

Prairie  Flower  gave  a shriek  of  ter- 
ror. 

M Halloh,  brigands  !”  the  Count 
shouted,  as  he  cocked  his  pistols,  “ back, 
or  I fire.” 

u Do  not  do  so,  for  goodness  sake, 
sir,  for  you  would  run  the  risk  of  kill- 


ing a friend,”  a voice  at  once  answered, 
which  the  Count  recognized  as  the  hun- 
ter’s. 

“ Brighteye  ?”  he  said,  in  amaze- 
ment. 

“ By  Jove !”  the  latter  said,  “ did 
you  fancy,  pray,  that  1 had  deserted 
you  ?” 

“ My  master,  my  kind  master  !”  the 
Breton  shouted,  leaving  hold  of  Prairie 
Flower’s  bridle,  and  rushing  toward  the 
young  man. 

“ Halloh  !”  the  Count  continued,  after 
the  emotion  caused  by  the  first  surprise 
was  slightly  calmed,  “ what  on  earth 
are  you  doing  here  in  ambush,  like 
pirates  of  the  prairie  ?” 

“ Come  to  our  encampment,  Mr. 
Edward,  and  we  will  tell  you.” 

“ Very  good  ; but  lead  the  way.” 

They  soon  reached  the  entrance  of  a 
natural  cavern,  where,  by  the  uncertain 
light  of  an  expiring  fire,  they  perceived 
a large  number  of  white  and  half-breed 
hunters,  among  whom  the  Count  recog- 
nized John  Black,  his  son,  his  wife,  and 
daughter. 

The  worthy  squatter  had  left  the 
clearing  under  the  charge  of  his  two 
servants,  and  fearing  lest  his  wife  and 
daughter  might  not  be  in  safety  during 
his  absence,  he  asked  them  to  accom- 
pany him ; and  though  this  offer  was 
somewhat  singular,  they  gladly  accept- 
ed it. 

Prairie  Flower  immediately  took  her 
place  by  the  side  of  the  two  ladies. 

Brighteye,  the  squatter,  and  above 
all  Ivon,  were  impatient  to  learn  what 
had  happened  to  the  Count,  and  how  he 
had  succeeded  in  escaping  from  the  red- 
skin camp. 

The  Count  made  no  difficulty  in  sat- 
isfying their  curiosity  ; the  more  so  as 
he  was  eager  to  learn  for  why|t  reason 
his  friends  were  ambuscaded  so  near  the 
camp. 

What  the  hunter  had  foreseen,  had 
happened ; scarce  victors  over  the 
Americans,  and  masters  of  the  fort,  dis- 
union had  set  in  amongst  the  red- 
skins. 

Several  chiefs  had  been  dissatisfied  at 
seeing,  to  their  prejudice,  Natah  Otann, 
one  of  the  youngest  sachems  of  the  Con 
federates,  claim  the  profits  of  the  victo- 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


1G1 


ry,  by  installing  himself,  with  his  tribe, 
in  the  fort,  which  all  had  captured  with 
such  an  effusion  of  blood  ; a dull  dis- 
contentment had  begun  to  prevail 
among  them  ; five  or  six  of  the  most 
powerful  even  spoke,  hardly  two  hours 
after  the  victory,  of  withdrawing  with 
their  warriors,  and  leaving  Natah  Otann 
to  continue  the  war  as  he  thought  pro- 
per with  the  whites. 

Red  Wolf  had  f >und  but  slight  diffi- 
culty in  commencing  the  work  of  de- 
fection he  meditated  : thus,  at  nightfall, 
he  entered  the  camp  with  his  warriors, 
and  began  fanning  the  flame  that  at 
present  only  smouldered,  but  which 
must  soon  be  a burning  and  devouring 
fire,  owing  to  the  means  of  corruption 
the  chief  had  at  his  disposal. 

Of  all  the  destructive  agents  intro- 
duced by  Europeans  in  America,  the 
most  effective  and  terrible  is,  indubita- 
bly,spirits.  W ith  the  exception  of  the 

Comanches,  whose  sobriety  is  proverbi- 
al, and  who  have  constantly  refused  to 
drink  anything  but  the  water  of  their 
streams,  all  the  Indians  are  mad  for 
strong  liquors.  Drunkenness  among 
their  primitive  race  is  terrible,  and  at- 
tains the  proportions  of  a furious  ma- 
nia. 

Red  Wolf,  who  burned  to  avenge 
himself  on  Natah  Otann,  and  who,  be- 
sides, blindly  obeyed  the  insinuations 
of  Mrs.  Margaret,  had  conceived  an  at- 
rocious pi  m,  which  only  an  Indian 
born  was  capable  of  forming. 

John  Black  had  brought  with  him 
into  the  desert  a considerable  stock  of 
whiskey. 

Red  Wolf  had  asked  for  this,  placed 
it  on  sledges,  and  thus  entered  the 

camp. 

The  Indians,  when  they  knew  the 
species  of  merchandize  he  brought  with 
him,  did  not  hesitate  to  give  him  *a 
hearty  reception. 

The  chief,  while  indoctrinating  them, 
and  representing  Natah  Otann  to  them 
as  a man  who  had  only  acted  lrom  per- 
sonal motives,  and  with  the  intention  of 
satiating  his  own  wild  ambition,  gener- 
ously abandoned  to  them  the  spirits  he 
had  brought  with  him. 

The  Indians  eagerly  accepted  the  pre- 


sent Red  Wolf  made  them,  and,  with- 
out the  loss  of  a moment,  took  hearty 
draughts. 

When  Red  Wolf  saw  that  the  Indians 
had  reached  that  state  of  intoxication 
he  desired,  he  hastened  to  warn  his 
allies,  so  that  they  might  attempt  a 
bold  “ coup  de  main”  on  the  spot. 

The  hunters  at  once  mounted  their 
horses,  and  proceeded  toward  the  fort- 
ress, concealing  themselves  about  two 
hundred  paces  from  it,  so  as  to  be  rea- 
dy for  the  first  signal. 

Natah  Otann,  in  crossing  the  camp 
after  escorting  the  two  young  people, 
perceived  the  effervescence  prevailing 
among  his  allies,  and  several  unpleasant 
epithets  struck  his  ear. 

Although  he  did  not  suppose  that  the 
Americans,  after  the  rude  defeat  they 
had  suffered  during  the  day,  were  in  a 
condition  to  assume  the  offensive  imme- 
diately, still,  his  thorough  knowledge 
of  his  countrymen's  character  made  him 
suspect  treachery,  and  he  resolved  to 
redouble  his  prudence,  in  order  to  avoid 
a conflict,  whose  disastrous  results  would 
be  incalculable  for  the  success  of  his 
career. 

Agitated  by  a gloomy  foreboding,  the 
young  chief  hurried  on  to  reach  the 
fort  ; but  at  the  moment  he  prepared 
to  enter,  after  opening  the  gate,  a heavy 
hand  was  laid  on  his  shoulder,  while  a 
rough  voice  hissed  in  his  ear : 

“ Natah  Otann  is  a traitor.” 

The  chief  turned,  as  if  a serpent  had 
stung  him,  and  wheeling  his  heavy  axe 
round  his  head,  dealt  a terrible  blow  at 
this  bold  speaker ; but  the  latter  avoided 
the  stroke  by  springing  on  one  side,  and 
raising  his  axe  in  his  turn,  he  directed 
a blow,  which  the  sachem  parried  with 
the  handle  of  his  weapon,  and  then  the 
two  men  rushed  on  each  other. 

There  was  something  singularly  start- 
ling in  this  desperate  combat  between 
two  men  dumb  as  shadows,  and  in  whom 
their  fury  was  only  revealed  by  the 
hissing  of  their  breath. 

“ Die,  dog  !”  Natah  Otann  suddenly 
said,  his  axe  crushing  through  the  skull 
of  his  adversary. 

The  chief  bent  over  him. 

“Red  Wolf,”  he  shouted.  “I  sus- 
pected it.” 


1G2 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE, 


Suddenly  an  almost  imperceptible 
sound  in  the  grass  reminded  him  of  the 
critical  situation  in  which  he  was  ; lie 
made  a prodigious  bound  back,  entered 
the  fort,  and  bolted  the  ga  e after  him. 

It  was  high  time;  he  had  scarce  dis- 
appeared, ere  some  twenty  warriors, 
lushing  in  pursuit  of  him,  ran  their 
heads  against  the  gate,  stifling  cries  of 
rage  and  desperation. 

But  the  alarm  had  been  given,  the 
general  combat  was  evidently  about  to 
begin. 

Natah  Otann,  immediately  on  enter- 
ing the  fort,  perceived,  with  a groan, 
that  this  victory,  which  he  had  so  dearly 
bought,  was  on  the  point  of  slipping 
from  him. 

The  Kenhas  had  done  within  the  fort 
what  the  other  Blackfeet,  inc'ted  by 
Red  Wolf,  had  effected  on  the  prairie. 

After  the  capture  of  the  fortress,  they 
spread  in  every  direction,  and  the  spirits 
did  not  long  escape  their  i^earch.  They 
had  rolled  the  barrels  into  the  square, 
aud  tapped  them,  availing  themselves 
of  the  White  Buffalo  being  asleep,  and 
the  absence  of  Natah  Otann,  the  only 
two  men  whose  influence  would  have 
been  great  enough  to  have  kept  them  in 
subordination. 

A frightful  orgie  had  then  commenced 
— an  Indian  orgie,  with  all  its  incidents 
of  murder  and  massacre. 

As  we  have  said,  drunkenness  in  the 
redskins  is  madness  carried  to  the  last 
paroxysm  of  fury  and  rage.  There  had 
been  a frightful  scene  of  carnage,  at  the 
end  of  which  the  Indians  had  fallen  on 
the  top  of  one  another,  and  gone  to 
sleep  in  the  midst  of  the  confusion. 

“ Oh  !”  the  chief  muttered,  in  despair. 
“ What  is  to  be  done  with  such  men  ]” 

Natah  Otann  rushed  into  the  room 
where  he  had  left  White  Buffalo;  the 
old  chief  was  quietly  sleeping  in  an  easy 
chai  r. 

“ Woe  ! woe  !”  the  young  man  yelled, 
as  he  ran  toward  him,  and  shook  him 
vigorously,  to  rouse  him. 

“ What  is  the  matter  V'  the  old  man 
asked,  opening  his  eyes,  and  sitting  up. 
“ What  news  have  you  V1 

“ That  we  are  lost !”  the  chief  re- 
plied. 


“ Lost, !”  the  While  Buffalo  said. 

“ What  is  happening  then  ?” 

“ The  six  hundred  men  we  had  here 
are  drunk,  the  rest  of  our  confederates 
are  turning  against  us,  and  the  only 
thing  left  to  us  is  to  die.” 

“ Let  us  die  then,  but  as  brave  men,” 
the  old  man  said,  rising. 

He  asked  Natah  Otann  for  details, 
w'hich  he  soon  gave  him. 

“ The  situation  is  grave,  but  all  is 
not  lost,  I hope,”  he  said  ; “ let  us  col- 
lect the  few  men  still  capable  of  fight- 
ing, and  make  head  against  the  storm.” 

At  this  moment  a tremendous  fusil- 
lade was  heard,  mingled  with  war  cries 
and  shouts  of  defiance. 

“ The  final  struggle  has  commenced  1” 
Natah  Otann  exclaimed. 

“ Forward  !”  the  old  chief  said. 

They  rushed  out.  The  situation  was 
most  critical. 

Major  Melville,  taking  advantage  of 
the  intoxication  of  his  keepers,  had 
broken  out  of  his  prison  at  the  head  of 
some  twenty  Americans,  and  boldly 
charged  the  redskins,  while  the  hunters 
outside  tried  to  scale  the  barricades. 

The  Indians  on  the  prairie,  ignorant 
of  Red  Wolf’s  death,  and,  believing 
they  were  carrying  out  his  plans,  ad- 
vanced, in  a compact  body  on  the  fort, 
with  the  intention  of  carrying  it. 

Natah  Otann  had  to  contend  against 
the  enemies  without  and  those  within  ; 
but  he  did  not  despair;  his  energy  seem- 
ed to  increase  with  peril ; he  wras 
everywhere  at  once  ; encouraging  some, 
rebuking  others,  and  imparting  some 
of  his  own  nerve  to  all. 

At  his  voice,  many  of  his  warriors 
sprang  up,  and  joined  him  ; then  the 
battle  was  organized,  and  became  reg- 
ular. 

Still  the  hunters,  excited  by  the 
Count  and  Brighteye,  redoubled  their 
efforts  ; climbing  on  each  other’s  backs, 
they  reached  the  top  of  the  palisades, 
which  they  wished  to  scale. 

The  Americans,  though  themselves 
surprised,  fought  their  enemies  with  in- 
describable fury,  returning  instantly  to 
the  attack  in  spite  of  the  bullets  that 
decimated  them,  and  seemed  resolved 
to  fall  to  the  last  man,  rather  than  give 
way  an  inch. 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


1G3 


Daring  the  two  hours  that  night  still 
lasted,  the  fight  was  maintained  with- 
out any  decided  advantage  on  either 
side  ; but  when  the  sun  appeared  on  the 
horizon,  matters  changed  at  once. 

In  the  darkness  it  was  impossible  for 
the  Indians  to  recognize  the  enemies 
against  whom  they  were  fighting  ; but 
so  soon  as  the  gloom  was  dissipated, 
they  saw,  combating  in  the  first  rank 
of  their  enemies,  and  pitilessly  cutting 
down  the  redskins,  the  man  on  whom 
they  counted  most,  whom  their  chiefs 
and  medicine  men  had  announced  to 
them  as  their  leader  to  victory,  who 
would  render  them  invincible. 

Then  they  hesitated,  disorder  broke 
out  among  them,  and,  in  spite  of  the 
efforts  made  by  chiefs,  they  gave  way. 

The  Count,  having  at  his  side  Bright- 
eye,  the  squatter  and  his  son,  and  Ivon, 
made  a frightful  butchery  of  the  In- 
dians ; he  was  avenging  himself  for  the 
treachery  of  which  they  had  made  him 
the  victim,  and,  at  each  stroke,  cut 
them  down  like  corn  ripe  for  the 
sickle. 

The  Count  at  length  reached  the  gate 
of  the  fort ; but  there  he  came  in  con- 
tact with  a band  of  picked  warriors, 
commanded  by  White  Buffalo,  who  was 
effecting  his  retreat  in  good  order,  and 
without  turning  his  back,  closely  pur- 
sued by  Major  Melville,  who  was  al- 
ready almost  master  of  the  interior  of 
the  fortress. 

There  was  a moment,  we  will  not  say 
of  hesitation,  but  of  truce  between  the 
hostile  bands  ; each  of  them  understood 
that  the  fate  of  the  battle  depended  on 
the  defeat  of  the  other. 

Suddenly,  Natah  Otann  made  his  ap- 
pearance, mad  with  grief  and  rage ; 
brandishing  in  one  hand  his  totem,  he 
guided  with  his  knees  a magnificent 
steed,  with  which  he  had  already  ridden 
several  times  into  the  thickest  of  the 
enemies’  ranks,  in  the  vain  hope  of  re- 
animating the  courage  of  his  men,  and 
turning  the  current  of  the  action. 

Horse  and  rider  were  bathed  in  blood 
and  perspiration ; the  shadow  of  death 
already  brooded  over  the  chief’s  con- 
tracted face  ; but  his  forehead  still  shone 
with  enthusiasm.  His  eyes  seemed  to 


flash  forth  lightning,  and  his  hand  wield- 
ed an  axe,  the  very  handle  of  which 
dripped  gore. 

Some  twenty  devoted  warriors  fol- 
lowed him,  wounded  like  himself,  but 
resolved,  like  him,  not  to  survive  de- 
feat. 

On  reaching  the  front  of  the  Ameri- 
can line,  Natah  Otann  stopped  ; his  eye- 
brows were  contracted,  a nervous  smile 
played  round  his  lips  ; and,  rising  in 
his  stirrups,  he  bent  a fascinating  glance 
around. 

“ Blackfeet,  my  brothers,”  he  shouted, 
in  a strident  voice,  “ as  you  know  not 
how  to  conquer,  learn  at  least  from  me 
how  to  die  !” 

And  burying  his  spurs  in  the  flanks 
of  his  steed,  which  shrieked  with  pain, 
he  rushed  on  the  Americans,  followed 
by  a few  warriors  who  had  sworn  not 
to  abandon  him. 

This  weak  band,  devoted  to  death, 
was  engulfed  in  the  ranks  of  the  hun- 
ters, when  it  entirely  disappeared  ; for 
a few  minutes  there  was  a sullen  con- 
test, a horrible  butchery,  an  ebb  and 
flow  of  courage  impossible  to  describe, 
a Titanic  struggle  of  fifteen  half-naked 
men  against  three  hundred  ; gradually 
the  agitation  ceased,  the  calm  returned, 
and  the  ranks  of  the  hunters  were  re 
formed. 

The  Blackfeet  horses  were  dead,  but 
they  had  a sanguinary  funeral,  for  one 
hundred  and  twenty  Americans  had  fal- 
len, burying  their  enemies  under  their 
corpses. 

White  Buffalo’s  band  alone  resisted  ; 
but,  attacked  in  the  rear  by  Major  Mel- 
ville, and  in  front  by  the  Count,  its  last 
hour  has  struck  : still  the  collision  was 
rude,  the  Indians  resisted  obstinately, 
and  made  the  whites  purchase  their 
victory  dearly ; but  attacked  on  all 
sides  at  once,  and  falling  helplessly  un- 
der the  unerring  bullets  of  the  white 
men,  disorder  entered  their  ranks,  they 
disbanded,  and  the  rout  commenced. 

One  man  alone  remained,  calm  and 
impassive,  on  the  field  of  battle. 

It  was  White  Buffalo,  leaning  on  his 
long  sword ; with  pallid  brow  and 
haughty  look,  he  still  defied  the  enemies 
he  could  no  longer  combat. 


164 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


“ Surrender  !”  Brighteye  shouted,  as 
he  rushed  upon  him;  “ surrender,  or  I 
will  shoot  you  like  a dog.” 

The  chief  smiled  disdainfully,  and 
made  no  reply. 

The  implacable  hunter  seized  his  rifle 
by  the  barrel,  and  whirled  it  around  his 
head. 

The  Count  seized  him  sharply  by  the 
arm. 

“ Stay,  Brighteye,”  he  said. 

“ Let  the  man  alone,”  White  Buffalo 
said,  coldly. 

“ I do  not  wish  him  to  kill  you,”  the 
young  man  replied. 

“ 1 suppose  you  wish  to  kill  me  your- 
self, noble  Count  of  Beaulieu,”  he  said, 
in  a cutting  voice. 

“ No,  sir,”  the  young  man  said,  with 
disdain,  “ throw  down  your  weapons  ; J 
spare  your  life.” 

The  exile  gave  him  a withering 
glance. 

“ Instead  of  telling  me  to  throw  down 
my  weapons,”  he  said,  ironically,  “why 
do  you  not  try  to  take  them  from  me  ?” 

“ Because  1 pity  your  age,  and  your 
grey  hair.” 

“ Pity  ? Confess  rather,  O noble 
Count,  that  you  are  afraid.” 

At  this  insult,  the  young  man  trem- 
bled, and  his  face  becime  livid. 

The  Americans  formed  a circle  round 
the  two  men,  and  anxiously  awaited 
what  was  going  to  happen. 

“ Put  an  end  to  this  !”  Major  Melville 
exclaimed  ; “ kill  that  mad  brute.” 

“ One  moment,  sir,  1 beg ; let  me 
settle  this  affair.” 

“ As  you  wish  it,  sir,  act  as  you  think 
proper.” 

“ You  desire  a duel  then  1”  the  Count 
said,  addressing  White  Buffalo,  who 
still  stood  perfectly  calm. 

“ Yes,”  he  answered,  through  his 
clenched  teeth  ; “ a duel  to  the  death  ! 
Two  principles,  and  not  two  men,  will 
contend  here.  I hate  your  race,  and 
you  hate  mine.” 

“ Be  it  so.” 

The  Count  took  two  sabres  from  the 
hands  of  the  men  nearest  him,  and  threw 
one  at  the  exile’s  feet. 

The  latter  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  but 
as  he  rose  again,  Ivon  aimed  a pistol  at 
him,  and  blew  out  his  brains. 


The  young  man  turned  furiously  on 

his  servant. 

“ Wretched  fellow,”  he  shouted, 
“ what  have  you  done  ?” 

“ Kill  me,  if  you  will,  sir,”  the  Bre- 
ton replied,  simply,  “ but  indeed  it  was 
stronger  than  myself,  I was  so  fright- 
ened.” 

“ Come,  come,”  the  Major  said,  inter- 
posing, “ you  must  not  be  angry  with 
the  poor  fellow ; he  fancied  he  was  act- 
ing for  the  best,  and  for  my  part  1 think 
he  was.” 

The  incident  had  no  other  result;  the 
exile  died  on  the  spot,  taking  with  him 
the  secret  of  his  name. 

While  this  scene  was  taking  place  in 
the  courtyard  of  the  fort,  John  Black, 
who  was  anxious  to  reassure  his  wife 
and  daughter,  went  to  look  for  them  ; 
but,  though  he  went  through  all  the 
rooms  and  outbuildings  of  the  fort, 
where  he  had  concealed  them  for  a few 
minutes  previously,  he  could  not  pos- 
sibly find  them  anywhere. 

The  poor  squatter  returned  with 
lengthened  face,  and  despair  in  his  soul, 
to  announce  to  the  Major  the  disappear- 
ance of  his  wife  and  daughter,  probably 
carried  off  by  the  Indians. 

Without  losing  a moment,  the  Major 
ordered  a dozen  hunters  to  go  in  search 
of  the  ladies;  but  just  as  the  band  was 
about  to  start,  they  arrived,  accompanied 
by  Brighteye  and  two  American  hunters, 
Margaret  and  her  daughter  were  with 
them. 

So  soon  as  Prairie  Flower  perceived 
the  Count,  she  uttered  a cry  of  joy,  and 
rushed  toward  him. 

“ Saved  !”  she  exclaimed. 

But  all  at  once  she  blushed,  trembled, 
and  went  in  confusion  to  seek  refuge  by 
her  mother’s  side. 

The  Count  went  up,  took  her  hand, 
and  pressed  it  tenderly. 

“ Prairie  Flower,”  he  said  to  her  soft- 
ly, “ do  you  no  longer  love  me  now  I 
am  free  ?” 

The  maiden  raised  her  head,  and 
looked  at  him  for  a moment  with  tear- 
laden eyes. 

“ Oh  ! ever,  ever  !”  she  answered. 

“ Look,  daughter,”  Mrs.  Black  said 
to  poor  Diana. 

“ Mother,”  she  replied  in  a firm  tone, 


TIIE  FLOWER  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 


165 


“ did  I not  tell  you  that  I should  forget 
him  V1 

The  squatter’s  wife  shook  her  head, 
but  made  no  further  remark. 

The  Indians  had  fled  without  leaving 
a man,  and  a few  hours  later  the  fort 
had  returned  to  its  old  condition. 

The  winter  passed  away  without  any 
fresh  incident,  for  the  rude  lesson  given 
the  Indians  had  done  them  good. 

Prairie  Flower,  recognized  by  her 
uncle,  remained  at  Fort  Mackenzie. 

The  girl  was  sorrowful  and  pensive  ; 
she  often  spent  long  hours  leaning  over 
the  parapets,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
prairie  and  the  forests,  which  were  be- 
ginning to  reassume  their  green  dress. 
Tier  mother  and  the  Major,  who  were 
so  fond  of  her,  could  not  at  all  under- 
stand the  gloomy  melancholy  that  prey- 
ed upon  her. 

When  pressed  to  explain  what  she 
suffered  from,  she  replied,  invariably, 
that  there  was  nothing  the  matter  with 
her. 

One  day,  however,  her  face  brighten- 
ed up,  and  her  joyous  smile  reappear- 
ed. 

Three  travellers  had  arrived  at  the 
fort. 

They  were  the  Count,  Brighteye,  and 
Ivon  ; they  were  returning  from  a long 
excursion  in  the  Rocky  Mountains. 

As  soon  as  he  arrived,  the  Count 
went  up  to  the  maiden,  and  took  her 
hand,  as  he  had  done  three  months  be- 
fore. 

“ Prairie  Flower,”  he  asked  her  once 
again,  “do  you  no  longer  love  me  V’ 

“ Oh  ! yes,  and  forever  !”  the  poor 
child  answered  gently,  for  she  had 
grown  timid  since  she  gave  up  her  des- 
ert life. 


“ Thank  you,”  he  said  to  her  ; and 
turning  to  the  Major  and  bis  sister,  who 
were  looking  at  each  other  anxiously, 
he  added,  without  loosing  the  hand  he 
held  : 

“ Major  Melville,  and  you,  Madam,  I 
ask  you  for  this  lady’s  hand.” 

A week  later  the  marriage  was  sol- 
emnized. • 

The  squatter  and  his  family  was  pres- 
ent. And  a month  previously,  Diar‘». 
had  married  James.  Still,  when  the 
“ yes”  was  uttered,  she  could  not  sup- 
press a sigh. 

“ You  see,  Ivon,  that  you  were  never 
killed  by  the  Indians — and  here  is  a 
proof  of  it.”  Brighteye  said  to  the  Br^ 
ton,  on  leaving  the  chapel. 

“ I am  beginning  to  believe  it,”  the 
latter  made  answer  ; “ but  no  matter, 
my  friend,  I shall  never  get  accustomed 
to  this  frightful  country  ; it  makes  me 
so  afraid.” 

“ The  old  humbug  !”  the  Canadian 
muttered  ; “ he  will  never  alter.” 

******* 

And  now,  to  satisfy  certain  curious 
readers,  who  like  to  know  everything, 
we  will  add  the  following  in  the  shape 
of  a postscript. 

A few  months  after  the  9th  Thermi- 
dor,  several  members  of  the  Conven- 
tion, in  spite  of  the  part  they  played 
on  that  day,  were  not  the  less  transport- 
ed to  French  Guiana. 

Two  of  them — Collot  D’Herbois  and 
Billaud  Varenne — succeeded  in  escaping 
from  Sinnamori,  and  buried  themselves 
in  the  deserts,  where  they  endured  hor- 
rible sufferings. 

Collot  D’Herbois  succumbed,  and 
we  have  told  his  comrade’s  fate. 


THE  END. 


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TERMS : To  those  with  whom  we  have  no  open  account,  Cash  with  order,  Five  per  oat 
off,  or  responsible  city  reference. 


CAROLINE  LEE  HERTZ'S  WORKS. 

The  Lost  Daughter  ; and  Other  Stories  ef  the 
Heart.  (Just  published.)  Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar ; or  bound  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
The  Planter’s  Northern  Bride.  Two  vol- 
umes, paper  cover,  600  pages.  Price  One  Dollar ; or 
bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Linda.  The  Young  Pilot  of  the  Belle 
Creole.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover.  Price  One 
Dollar  ; or  hound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Robert  Graham.  The  Sequel  to,  and  Continua- 
tion of  Linda.  Twc  volumes,  paper  cover.  Price  One 
Dollar  ; or  bound  in  one  volume.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Courtship  and  Marriage.  Two  vols.,  paper 
cover.  Price  One  Dollar ; or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
Rena;  or,  The  Snow  Bird.  Two  vols.,  paper 
cover.  Price  One  Dollar  ; or  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
Marcus  Warlaud.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 

Price  One  Dollar ; or  bound  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
Love  after  Marriage.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover. 

Price  One  Dollar  ; oi  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Eoline  ; or,  Magnolia  Vale.  Two  vols.,  paper 
coter.  Price  One  Dollar;  or  in  one  vol., cloth,  $1.25. 
The  Banished  Son.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover. 

Price  One  Dollar  ; or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Helen  and  Arthur.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 

Price  One  Dollar  ; or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
The  Planter’s  Daughter.  Two  vols.,  paper 
cover  Price  One  Dollar ; or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

The  whole  of  the  above  are  also  published  in  a very 
fine  style,  bound  in  full  Crimson,  with  gilt  edges,  full 
gilt  sides,  gilt  backs,  etc.,  making  them  the  best  books 
for  presentation,  at  the  price,  published.  Price  bf  either 
one  in  this  style,  Two  Dollars  a copy. 


MISS  BREMER’S  NEW  WORKS. 

The  Father  and  Daughter.  By  Fredrika  Bre- 
mer. Two  vols.,  paper.  Price  $1.00;  or  cloth,  $1.25. 

The  Four  Sisters.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover 
Price  One  Dollar  • or  in  one  volume.  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

The  Neighbors.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover.  Pries 
Cue  Dollar;  or  in  one  volume  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

The  Home.  Twc  volumes,  paper  cover.  Pric* 
One  Dollar ; or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

MRSl  ANN  S.  STEPHENS’  WORKS. 

The  Heiress.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover.  Piles 
One  Dollar  ; or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  One  Dollar 
and  Twenty-Five  Cents. 

Mary  Derwent.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar ; or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.26. 

Fashion  and  Famine.  Two  volumes,  paper 
cover.  Price  $1.00;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

The  Old  Homestead.  Two  volumes,  paper 
cover.  Price  One  Dollar,  or  in  one  vol..  cloth.  $1.2*. 

MISS  LESLIE’S  BEHAVIOUR  BOOK. 

Miss  Leslie’s  Behaviour  Book.  A com- 
plete Hjuide  and  Manual  for  Ladies,  as  regards  their 
conversation,  manners,  dress,  introduction,  entrbe  to 
society;  shopping;  conduct  in  the  street ; at  places 
of  amusement;  in  traveling  ; at  the  table,  either  at 
home,  in  company,  or  at  hotels  ; deportment  in  gen- 
tlemen’s society ; lips;  complexion;  teeth;  hands; 
the  hair,  &c.,  &c.  With  full  instructions  and  advice 
in  letter-writting ; receiving  presents;  incorrect 
words;  borrowing:  obligations  to  gentlemen;  deco- 
rum in  church;  at  evening  parties;  and  full  sugges- 
tions in  bad  practices  and  habits  easily  contracted, 
which  no  young  lady  should  be  guilty  of,  Ac.,  tic 
Complete  in  one  large  bound  volume.  Price  $1.26. 


Oopiea  of  any  of  the  above  Works  wil  be  sert  by  Mail,  Free  of  Postage,  on  receipt  of  Prica 


